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A TRAVELLING VENDOR. 


Bringing his collection of curios for sale to shew the Dr. Sahib, and demonstrating with a 
song the excellence of his home-made fiddle. To the right is a lidded beer-pot, and on the small 
table a pot for pouring out libations. 


~ wal of 
J 


IN 


HIMALAYAN TIBET. ” 


A RECORD OF I2 YEARS SPENT IN THE TOPSY-TURVY 
LAND OF LESSER TIBET WITH A DESCRIPTION OF 
ITS CHEERY FOLK, THEIR WAYS & RELIGION, 

OF THE RIGOURS OF THE CLIMATE 
©& BEAUTIES OF THE COUNTRY, 

ITS FAUNA AND FLORA 


BY 
A. REEVE HEBER M_D,, Ch.B. 


cs 
KATHLEEN M. HEBER M.B., Ch.B., B.Sc. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS & MAP 


Philadelphia 
J. B. Lippincott Company 
1926 


MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN 


TO 
OUR TWO DAUGHTERS, 
HELEN & JOSEPHINE, 
TO REMIND THEM OF THE LAND OF 


THEIR EARLY CHILDHOOD 







| "Digitized by the intel rchivil b 
. in 2022 with funding from bt 
ae Princeton Theological Seminary Librat 








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Preface 


N writing the following pages, we are very conscious of 
the help we have received from many sources, for which 
we express our heartiest thanks. 

First and foremost, we remember our many Tibetan 
friends who, by allowing us to enter their homes and to watch 
them at their work and play, have enabled us to learn much 
about their inner life. We bear in particular remembrance 
our two Ladaki friends, Nyenpo Joseph Gergan and Nyenpo 
Dawazung Dana, who so willingly put at our disposal their 
profound knowledge of their own country, its history and 
customs. 

Without reference to Dr. A. H. Franke’s historical researches 
our second chapter could not have been written. To him we 
also owe the two stories of Dardish heroes ; and Colonel 
Waddell’s ‘ Lamaism ”’ is a store of information. 

We have further to mention some other friends, Mr. Basil 
Crump and Mrs. A. C. Cleather, whose knowledge of Buddh- 
ism is so profound. ‘They have often shown us the signifi- 
cance of things not realized before, while Mr. Crump has 
most generously allowed us to draw on his splendid collec- 
tion of photographs. Our gratitude is due also to Major 
Robson, I.A., a former British Joint Commissioner, and 
to Miss Lucy McCormick, for so very kindly allowing us 


to make use of some of their photographs. 
xi 


Xil Preface 


Finally we would thank Miss J. J. Ferguson for her 
invaluable assistance in preparing the manuscript for the 
printers. 

Our purpose in writing the book, was to fulfil an oft- 
expressed want for a popular and not highly technical account 
of the land and the people. There is still much to say about 
our Ladaki friends, but we hope that what we have been 
able to recount in the following pages will give the reader a 
real interest in these lovable inhabitants of the roof of the 


World. 


KATHLEEN Mary HeEper. 
A. Reeve Heser. 


Len, August 4, 1925. 


Contents 


CHAPTER I 


INTRODUCTION TO THE LAND anpD PEOPLE 


CHAPTER II 


Tue Past Story of Lapak 


CHAPTER III 
Nature’s SETTING . 


CHAPTER IV 
Over THE Zoc Pass 

CHAPTER V 
Into Lapak 

CHAPTER VI 


Back to LAMALAND 


CHAPTER VII 
Over Many Passes 


CHAPTER VIII 
InTo ZANKSKAR 


CHAPTER IX 
Witu Brocpa anp KuamMpa 


CHAPTER X 
*“* CuRIOUSER AND CuRIOUSER ”” 


CHAPTER XI 
DoMESTICITIES 


CHAPTER XII 
Mopes anp Manners 


CHAPTER XIII 


PROFESSIONS AND INDUSTRIES 
Xlii 


PAGE 


17 


23 


31 


44 


a3 


59 


75 


86 


g2 


Ioo 


10g 


12! 


134 


X1V Contents 


CHAPTER XIV 


OccipentTaL TREATMENT FoR OrrenTAL Mataptzs ‘ , o 54a 
CHAPTER XV 
NationaL Pastimes anD Sports : ‘ ; : ; ae ot 
CHAPTER XVI 
Merit AND ITs ACQUISITION . ‘ ; : . : 1 aGz 
CHAPTER XVII 
RiTEs AND CEREMONIES . ; : : , - ‘ PNET 
CHAPTER XVIII 
Tue Carrszes or Lire ; ; : : P : , Markel 
CHAPTER XIX 
Rajaus AND RoyaLTizs. ; ‘ : , : . PBS as > 
CHAPTER XX 
Demons, Dances AnD Dinners : ‘ ‘ ‘ : ot £65 


CHAPTER XXI 
A Typican Monastery . : : : ; , ‘ ~ 256 


CHAPTER XXII 


SKUsHOGS AND SCANDALS . é A : ; ’ | - 2206 


CHAPTER XXIII 


IntTrRopuction To THE Hemis Mystery Pray ; : , x, '239 


CHAPTER XXIV 
Hemis Mystery Pray—First Day . . ’ : ‘ +, BSI 


CHAPTER XXV 
Hemis Mystery Pray—Seconp Day : ; : ; . 264 


CHAPTER XXVI 
Tue Lure or Lapax.. : ' i : ; ! eer 


INDEX . f : : : , : : ’ , ey 5°, 


List of Illustrations 


A Travettinc VENDOR 

Depication oF A New Mani Watt 

A Monastic Banp 

A GREETING : . : : n 
Two Lapaxkis In THE Bazaar aT Len 

Tue Basy SkusHoG oF SPITUK 

A Lapakr From a sipE Vatugy (1) . 

A Breezy Dwetine (2) 

Heap ‘TEACHER OF THE MownasTERY OF SANKAR (3 & 4) 
Tue Town Bann oF Lex 

A Private CHAPEL 

A SxusHoc anp Huis Monastic Banp (1) 


Tue Bic Drum (2) 


Tue Cuter Tipetan REPRESENTATIVE AND HIS Son (3) . 


Batt: Coos 

A Lapax1 Weppinc Group 
Pictain AND PErac 

Masxep Dancine (1) 

A CuortTen-Crownep Gateway (2) 
A Sacrep Banner (3) . ; 


A Hemis Srreet (4) . 


XV 


Frontispiece 
FACING PAGE 
48 

48 

48 

72 

Le 

88 

88 

88 

104 


104 


XVI List of Illustrations 


FACING PAGE 


A Birtupay ENTERTAINMENT ; A : : ; +, 
Men Dancers at A WEDDING : ‘ : : ; « 18d 
LamMayuru . : } : : . : ; ; met > = 
SANKAR DGONPA . : : ; : : : ’ ¢ ne 
A Supine. “ , : : : ak : es 
Tue SkusHoc oF Hemis pGonpa : : : : aR 
Tue Hemis FestivaL : ‘ 4 : ; : | (245 
Tue Mystery Pray : ’ : : ; : : Pee Ys 
Tue InaucuraL Dance or THE Hemis FesTivat : . 0 f260 
Tue Festiva, at Hemis : ; : : Q : ° hae 


Hemis pDGonpA . A : ; : ; : : ie 


IN HIMALAYAN 
TIBET 


CHAPTER I 
Introduction to the Land & People 


& NCE upon a time”? is the orthodox beginning for 

all stories of fairy-land, and indeed the words“ here 

and now” seem far too prosaic to introduce a 

new-comer into a land where those, who can still 
look out on the world with a child’s wonderment and imagina- 
tion, may actually see such living and moving embodiment of 
gnomes, elves, quaint old witches, weird old wizards in such 
appropriately fantastic and grotesque settings that they may 
well feel they have reached the veritable home of merry 
sprites and strange goblins. Could anything be more gnome- 
like than the little children playing in the roads and 
lanes, peeping shyly round dark corners or out of mysterious 
cracked doors, or darting away down queer passages leading 
under and through houses, quaint little individuals with merry 
brown faces, sometimes flat and Mongolian in type, but often 
with large lustrous brown eyes, probably from a Kashmiri 
admixture. See these elf-like little faces framed in theastrakhan 
edging of their high fur-lined caps with turned-up corners, a 
fashion worn by all ages and sexes, including the pig-tailed 
men, these very corners being so typical of the whole goblin 
land. So, too, are the still taller peaked mitre-shaped hats 
of the lamas, red or yellow, while the national head-dress or 
‘“Perag ” of the women, is the most extraordinary thing of 

17 B 


18 Introduction to the Land & People 


all, and must have a detailed description later on. Then 
look at their dwellings, strange habitations of mud and 
stones, crudely put together with crooked lines and strange 
little tiny windows, with or without a rough wooden frame- 
work. The larger of these may have a wooden partition 
down the centre of the framework, and the upper edge of the 
latter is curved upwards in each partition, adding the expres- 
sion of an eyebrow to the aperture. Through such windows 
it is quite common to see the solemn face of an old goat 
looking out, his long beard waggling to his meditative munch 
as he surveys the street below. How strange it seems to 
our Western ideas to have a goat upstairs and free to wander 
all over the house. But here we shall slowly find that in 
one example after another “the things go the other way.” 
We are not exactly in Looking-glass Land, but we are 
certainly in some sort of Wonderland, where many things 
are upside-down, topsy-turvy or just the reverse of our 
notions of correctness, and where the strangest incongruities 
prevail. 

To start with the houses, our best rooms are on the ground 
floor ; as you ascend the rooms decrease in importance, and 
the uppermost ones are relegated to lumber or to the least 
important members of the household. In Ladak, on the 
contrary, the higher you go the better the rooms, and the 
flat roof is the most used place of all, especially in the sunny 
hours of winter, when many domestic activities can be carried 
out in the warm sunshine there, and thereby the precious fuel 
be saved. Often there is a small porch on one side, a shelter 
from the keen spring winds or.a shade from the heat of 
summer. ‘The fact that horse-manure or cows’ dung is 
spread out in patches on the floor to dry, or that the chimney 
of the summer kitchen-room is busy fulfilling its functions 
near-by, does not at all detract from the desirability of this 
lofty open-air sitting room. Descending, we come to a large 
room with an open verandah, which can be closed in by 


Introduction to the Land & People 19 


short planks, and whose wooden framework may be crudely 
carved ; this will be the summer kitchen-living-room. Its 
winter counterpart, a smaller, darker room, will be found on 
the second floor, the windows being glazed by small panes in 
the most advanced houses, while the others are stuffed with 
bundles of rags or closed in with pieces of paper, for which 
we often receive requests at the beginning of winter. The 
ground floor serves to stable the cattle, who thus provide a 
warm atmosphere at the base of the house in the severe 
winter, a mild basement heating. What we may thus term 
the biological warmth of winter concentration is shared also 
by the fowls, who arrive at night in the winter kitchen-living- 
room, and by this means are persuaded to lay occasionally 
even throughout that bitter season. 

Our idea of the place for a flower garden is just outside the 
front door and around the house, but these people cannot spare 
land there, for, if the house is built on land, which can be irri- 
gated, every bit must be used for agriculture, and any spare little 
plot for a few vegetables. But their appreciation of flowers 
is seen by the boxes full of gay blossom on roof or balcony, 
and the place for a “ buttonhole,” in the absence of our 
tailor-made provision, is behind the ears, giving a much more 
saucy effect, especially when so near to sparkling brown eyes. 
Not only may there be a flower garden on the roof, but it is 
not uncommon to see a tent pitched there for shade and 
summer sleeping purposes. Sleep itself is most easily 
invited in the knee-elbow position, clothes being removed 
and used to augment the bedding. In spite of this unfavour- 
able position the Ladaki is not guiltless of snoring, but much 
the reverse! In our civilization the poorest will aim at 
being tidy outside. Not so the Ladaki. He wears his 
oldest dress outside, and his best one underneath, reversing 
the order for special occasions. Roughly sewn patches are 
applied at any angle ; there is no need to attempt invisible 
patching as we do, for the more patches with the edges over- 

B2 


20 Introduction to the Land & People 


lapping, the warmer the dress. Our chief meals are 
completed with a hot beverage, such as coffee, but they begin 
as well as end theirs with their butter-tea. Even the teeth 
of the carpenter’s saw are sloped in the wrong direction 
compared with ours. If we listen to the cow, we note that 
she descends the scale as she moos, whereas our western 
cows moo from below upwards. 

With us the protrusion of the tongue is a sign of contempt 
and derision, and is certainly not regarded as a sign of good 
breeding ! With the Tibetan it is a very polite form of 
greeting, and its involuntary production often occurs from 
embarrassment or astonishment. In the west we wait for 
admittance at the door of the house. In Ladak, the house 
is penetrated until the desired one is found. When the 
“Doctor Sahib ”’ was ill in bed not long after our arrival in 
Ladak, and while we were still learning many new things, 
the door between his bedroom and the dining-room suddenly 
opened to admit a not over-cleanly looking individual, with a 
loudly squawking and protesting cock under his arm, a token 
of gratitude for the ‘‘ Doctor Sahib ”’ from one of his patients, 
but the ““ Mem Sahib ”’ would have preferred to receive it on 
his behalf further from the sensitive radius of a badly aching 
head. When our little girl donned a lamb-skin coat with the 
white fur outside, it was considered to be a most inside-out 
proceeding, while in Ladak hats are worn indoors as well as 
out-of-doors by both sexes. Even their treatment of nature 
seems to be the wrong way round, for they pray for sun to 
relieve a drought ; but we have only to remember that the 
water supply and irrigation of the fields are entirely dependent 
on the summer melting of the winter snows away up on the 
mountain heights. Although the native doctors get plenty 
of rewards in both food and cash, it is often made plain to the 
European doctor that the reward for his services is the merit 
he wins, no doubt the reason for his leaving his own country 
and coming to such a far land, unless it be that the unaccount- 


Introduction to the Land & People 21 


able British Government is paying him some large salary for 
his services ! 

Strange is it to see the extraordinary mixture of finery and 
rags in their religious services, ceremonies and festivals, the 
rich brocaded Chinese silk gowns of the dancing lamas having 
little tags of cheapest gaudily-dyed butter muslin attached, while 
beautiful clothes are surmounted by tinselled hats, the latter 
the sort of rubbish that children love for “ dressing up” in 
the west. Strange too, is the mixture of clownishness and 
solemnity, as seen especially at the Hemis festival. In the 
altars of little private chapels in the homes of the richer 
Buddhists, the most beautiful metal work will be found side- 
by-side with a cracked cup or an old tin, while in the matter 
of dress, dirt and finery often go together, nor do they seem 
to see the former in demanding a price for a second-hand, one 
might say an ““umpteenth” hand, garment with beautiful 
Chinese embroidery, but so tattered and frayed and soiled, 
that a European can only reject it. 

So does one thing after the other seem to our ideas the 
wrong way round in this strange land, where the term 
mgologpa (‘‘ head-turned”’ or “‘ back to front’’ man) is a 
common term of reproach. But is it they who are, as it were, 
the wrong side of the Looking-Glass, or are we? 

Some years ago one of our colleagues in the course of 
conversation with a Ladaki, referred to their peculiar and 
distinctive smell, and was filled with surprise and chagrin 
when he was told that that was quite comprehensible, for we 
Pyighng pa (pronounced Pilingpa, being literally outsiders, 
i.€., foreigners) had an unpleasant odour in the Ladaki 
estimation also. Having some idea of the ratio of their 
ablutions to ours, this was a distinct blow to the Sahibs’ vanity ! 

In attempting to understand this land and people, we must 
therefore remember that we are the outsiders and ours are 
the extraordinary ideas and standards. After all, is it not 
much wiser to expose your older dress to the daily wear and 


22 Introduction to the Land & People 


tear, and keep your best one clean, yet availing yourself of 
its warmth, instead of putting it away to get moth-eaten? 
How much better to have your garden on the roof, where the 
passer-by may not be tempted to snatch a blossom over an 
easily knocked-down mud wall, and as for having your best 
room at the top of the house, it certainly has the better view 
there, and is further removed from the dust and the smell of 
the narrow lanes, which are only scavenged by the unclaimed 
street-dogs and the indefatigable crows and ravens. Indeed, 
but for these unrecognized friends, aided by the dryness of 
the climate and the long winter frost, the town would soon be 
uninhabitable for lack of sanitation. So let us hope that 
living among these strange people may develop in us a sweet 
reasonableness as to differences of opinion, which perhaps 
some of our insulated compatriots may find it more difficult 
to obtain. As another colleague frequently reminds us, they 
think we are all mad, some more than others. ‘True, we have 
invented “motres”’ (motors), telegraphy, electric lighting 
and other wonders seen in Srinagar, the nearest point of real 
civilization, but who, save more or less mad people could 
produce such strange inventions? Probably the demons 
have revealed such tricks to us. Was not the Great White 
Queen Victoria herself a demon, demonstrated by the fact 
that she rode side-saddle ? At any rate if challenged as to 
the rightness of his methods, the Ladaki can point out that 
his civilization is older than ours, and this same antiquity is 
adduced by him as an argument in favour of his religion as 
compared with ours. 


CHAPTER II 
The Past Story of Ladak 


VERY cursory glance at the country suffices to 
show how ancient their civilization must be. 
Almost every village has its ruins of castle or fort 
or monastery, perched up on the rocky hillside in 
apparently inaccessible positions, and in most places will be 
found the village bard who can recount strange tales of long 
ago, often breaking out into song in the course of his narrative. 
But there are many written records, too, for the Buddhist 
lamas have inscribed the happenings of olden times with 
golden ink on beautifully polished black paper (in fairy-land 
surely all records are kept in gold !), and Kings have acquired 
much merit for themselves by building long prayer walls, and 
much gratitude from the student of historical research by 
inserting a tablet of stone on which the name of the builder 
and certain valuable bits of historical information are engraved. 
By the laborious study of such records Dr. Francke, the modern 
historian of Western Tibet, has been able to piece together a 
connected, albeit fragmentary history of the country. A 
brief glance at this will give us the historical background 
necessary for the understanding of present conditions in 
Ladak. 

The first mention of the country seems to have been made by 
Herodotus, who describes a land of wonderful ants, who in 
burrowing out their homes in the earth threw up gold. These 
ants were said to be nearly as large as dogs, and still more 
ferocious, with a keen sense of smell and great fleetness of 

43 


24 The Past Story of Ladak 


foot. This made it very difficult for the Indians who wanted 
the gold to obtain it, and the only method found possible was to 
fetch the gold day by day when the ants slept, and bear it away 
on swift horses. Ants said to be of this wonderful species, 
were pointed out to Dr. Francke, but they must have con- 
siderably shrunk since the days of their fame, for they were 
now of normal size. But what sort of people inhabited the 
land in these ancient times? Doubtless, the first dwellers 
were Tibetan nomads, who wandered about on the immense 
upland plains of the Himalayas with their large flocks of 
sheep, goats, and yaks, moving on from pasture to pasture as 
they still do, so slowly does the East change. 

Even now one need go only as far as the Chantang, some ten 
marches from Leh, to see just the same picture as these far- 
off days presented. Still each family has its funny little black 
tent, woven of yak’s hair, and with a large hole in the roof to 
let out the smoke, for the food is cooked on an open fire 
within. Two or three families settle down with their herds 
in one place until the grass is exhausted, when they move on 
to the next grazing ground. Abraham in his day must have 
lived similarly on a larger scale. ‘These nomads were probably 
adherents of the old religion, called the ‘‘ Bon Chos,” from 
which arise the elements of demon-worship in the Lamaism 
of to-day. About this time Indian Buddhism was manifesting 
a keen missionary spirit, and sending out men to spread its 
doctrine and enlightenment far and wide. Among those 
some came to the Western Himalayas leaving traces of religion 
which had come up direct from India, not via Tibet. Thus 
on a medical tour to the neighbouring province of Zankskar, 
a village was found where almost every fourth man wore the 
yellow saffron robe of the down-country Buddhist priest. 
The descendants of these early missionaries called Mons are 
still plentiful in the land, yet they have remained quite distinct 
from the original inhabitants. If you want a door made, you 
must fetch the Mon carpenter. If you want to hear of the brave 


The Past Story of Ladak 25 


actions of the mythical “ King Kesar,” it is the Mon musician 
who will tell you about them, interspersing his story with 
song. If you have to arrange for a wedding, or any sort of 
ltadmo (entertainment) you must not omit to call the Mon 
drummer, who will sustain the enthusiasm of your guests by 
beating his queer little kettle drum. It is strange how these 
people have lived in the country for so many centuries without 
absorption, but although caste does not exist here in the sense 
it does in India, it often crops up in questions of marriage 
and a Bod (Tibetan Buddhist) must not marry a Mon. 

The next people to arrive in the land were the Dards, who 
seem to have emigrated from the district of Gilgit, and they, 
too, have preserved a separateness through the centuries, 
having a distinct dress of their own, nor, although they are 
called Buddhists, does their Buddhism quite conform with 
that obtaining in the rest of Ladak. Later when we meet 
them on tour, we shall have more to tell about these interesting 
folk. 

We may now leave behind us the history based on con- 
jecture and turn to that founded on written records either 
inscribed on parchment or engraved on stone, the chroniclers 
being the priests, reminding us of the priestly scribes of our 
own past history. Before William the Conqueror landed in 
England, a great religious struggle was in progress, both in 
Central and in Western Tibet. The relations between these 
two kingdoms have always been rather close. The opposing 
faiths were the old Box Chos, consisting mainly of demon- 
worship, and the later Buddhism. ‘The latter was waxing 
stronger, but the older religion still looked to one, Langdarma, 
to revive their ancient worship. Langdarma had really been 
heir to the Tibetan throne, but had been disinherited on 
account of his adherence to the old faith, and his younger 
brother had obtained the kingship. Langdarma, however, 
managed to dispose of the latter, took the crown, and laid a 
heavy hand on the Buddhist monasteries and priests, but his 


26 The Past Story of Ladak 


triumph was short-lived. A Buddhist priest disguised in the 
black sacerdotal robes of the Bon Chos, presented himself 
before the King with a petition, and, when near enough, drew 
from his ample robes a bow and arrow and killed the leader 
of his religious enemies. The assassin escaped by turning 
his coat inside out and showing the white lining. 

Langdarma reigned about a.p. 900 and from him all the 
kings of Ladak have descended, for although they are split 
up into two dynasties, the later one is traced from a younger 
brother of the last king of the first line. An account of what 
happened under the various kings of these dynasties would be 
beyond the scope of this book, but let us rapidly trace the 
fortunes of the Western Himalayan kingdom, now repre- 
sented by Ladak, and formerly including also the province of 
Baltistan. At first various royal personages held sway in 
different parts of the country, but the one in Leh was a 
descendant of the King of the Central Kingdom (Tibet 
proper), while in another part there ruled a Dard King. 
Between these two Kings there was continual strife, but at 
last the Leh ruler seems to have won the mastery in matters 
temporal, and increasingly in matters spiritual. One 
King introduced Buddhist literature from Central Tibet, . 
another made it obligatory on all candidates for the priesthood 
to go to Lhasa for their training. ‘This can only be regretted 
by the student of Ladaki as distinct from Tibetan literature, 
for, besides putting a stop to the growth of Indian Buddhism, 
it also inhibited the literary genius of this people, whose tales 
of by-gone days indicate how their literature might have 
developed. 

By about the time of the fourteenth century Buddhism 
had quite prevailed, and, as 1s so often seen with this religion, 
having once subdued the indigenous faith, it incorporated 
much of the Boz Chos in its own tenets. ‘The Lamaism of 
the present day thus consists of a large proportion of Bon 
Chos with a smaller mixture of Buddhism, the former still 


The Past Story of Ladak 27 


making its old appeal to the illiterate people of the land, 
while only 2 few of the more erudite priests know anything of 
pure Buddhism. Even this mixed religion soon became 
corrupt, and in 1378 the Buddhist reformer of ‘Tibet, Tsong- 
kapa, appeared, who tried to bring the priesthood back to the 
pure Buddhism of “ Sangs rgyas,” the Tibetan name for the 
Buddha, Sakya Muni. Finding the Tibetan priests wore red 
robes, while the true Buddhist priest should wear yellow, and, 
unable to get them to accept the orthodox dress, like a good 
Buddhist he compromised by insisting on yellow caps and 
sashes being worn with the former red gown. The reformed 
sect were not supposed to marry, but the unattractiveness of 
true celibacy could easily be overcome by a legal quibble 
applied to the prevalent custom of polyandry. The so-called 
“yellow lamas ’”’ were not allowed to eat meat, nor to drink 
“chang,” the local beer. So now we get the two sects of 
yellow and red lamas existing side by side both in ‘Tibet 
proper and in Ladak, in much the same way that Roman 
Catholics and Protestants have existed side by side in Europe. 
Yet for a long time there was not much hostility between the 
two sects, though one king might favour one and another 
the other. 

Towards the end of the eighteenth century, Lodros 
Chokldan was ruling in Leh, whilst at Tingmogang, situated 
on the old high road, where ruins of the old royal castle may 
still be seen, his cousin Bagan lived and ruled. ‘The latter 
allied himself with a third ruler, and these two defeated the 
king of Leh. Bagan then ascended the throne, thus begin- 
ning the second dynasty, of whom the present ex.-ex. King 
is a descendant. 

From now onwards, Ladak comes into conflict with peoples 
beyond her own borders. Although one Ladaki king had 
accepted the religion of Mahomet, the country remained 
faithful to Lamaistic Buddhism, whereas the neighbouring 
kingdom of Baltistan had been definitely converted to Moham- 


28 The Past Story of Ladak 


medanism. Jamyang Namrgyal, the grandson of Bagan, 
King of Ladak, set out to enlarge his kingdom by attacking 
the buffer state between it and Baltistan, called Purig, of which 
Kargil is the capital. However, as he was too late in the year, 
he sustained defeat as much from snow as from the armies 
which opposed him, and as a result had to accept both the 
hand and the religion of the daughter of his Mohammedan 
conqueror. As the lady was beautiful, the accommodating 
lamas mitigated matters by discovering that Katun, their new 
queen, was a re-incarnation of the goddess, the “ White Tara.” 
The son of this union was, however, again a good Buddhist, 
and also went to war with Baltistan, but was unsuccessful. It 
was at about this time that the great Hemis Incarnation was 
invited to take up his abode in Ladak, and that the peculiar 
prayer-walls, of which we shall have more to say later, were 
introduced into the country. A third and successful war was 
also waged with the Baltis. But now begins the time of the 
decay and fall of the Western Tibetan Empire. 

The quarrel between red and yellow lamas had now become 
acute in Tibet, and the yellow sect called in the King of 
Mongolia as their ally. He overran the whole country of 
Central ‘Tibet, and then turned his eyes further afield, first 
letting them rest on Bhutan, with the result that, without 
waste of time, the King of Mongolia immediately attacked 
Ladak, slowly driving the army back to the fortress of Basgo. 
The ruins of this fort on the hill, where the Ladakis held out 
for three years are still to be seen. Being at the end of their 
resources, the Ladakis called in the help of the great Mogul 
King, Shah Jahan, who sent a large army to their assistance, 
and together they slowly drove the Mongolian invader back 
over the border. Shah Jahan made the Ladaki King accept 
the Mohammedan religion and leave one of his sons with 
him as a hostage. But hardly had his Kashmiri army retired 
from the country, when the Mongolians returned again and 
forced the poor old King of Ladak to sign another treaty, 


The Past Story of Ladak 29 


promising to send tribute to Lhasa. Thus even to-day the 
anomaly exists that Ladak, though subject to the Maharajah 
of Kashmir, yet has to send a kind of tribute to Lhasa, of 
which more anon. 

The final fall of the Western Tibetan Empire occurred 
about the year 1840, when the Sikhs with the help of the 
Rajah of Jammu had conquered Kashmir, and the latter, 
wishing to enlarge his borders sent his general, Sorowar, to 
conquer Ladak. It would take us too long to follow this 
general in all his campaigns ; suffice it to say he was uniformly 
successful in bringing the country into subjection as much by 
his wise statesmanship as by his good generalship. 

Thus it comes about that Ladak and Baltistan have become 
dependencies of the Kashmir State, over which his Highness, 
the Maharajah, Sir Hari Singh, now rules. His interests 
here are looked after by the Wazir of Ladak, who spends 
the summer in Leh and the winter in Skardu, the 
capital of Baltistan, and may be regarded as the Kashmir 
Joint Commissioner, whereas his Majesty, the Emperor of 
India, is represented by the British Joint Commissioner, who 
spends about three months here in the summer, and the rest 
of the year resides in Srinagar as one of the assistants to the 
British Resident there. ‘The chief duties of the latter are to 
look after things pertaining to the “ Treaty Road”’ and to 
watch over the interests of foreigners in Ladak, whether they 
be Europeans, Yarkandis or Central Tibetans. During the 
absence of both these officials in winter, the highest authority 
in Leh is vested in the chief Magistrate or Tehsildar, whose 
Tehsil or area of jurisdiction extends as far as Botkharbu, 
where that of his colleague at Kargil begins. A third Tehsil 
also exists at Skardu. These Tehsildars are, of course, 
servants of the State of Kashmir, so also is the Naib (or Sub- 
Tehsildar). The State Dispensary with its Sub-Assistant 
Surgeon, the Telegraph office with its ‘ Babu ” in charge, are 
also State services, but the Post Office is Imperial, and the 


30 The Past Story of Ladak 


Aksakal, who represents the British Government in assisting 
Yarkandi traders, and the “‘ Charas Officer ”’ in charge of the 
Indian hemp trade from Yarkand, both of the latter connected 
with the “Treaty Road,” are also Imperial Government 
servants. ‘These officials and sub-officials are prominent in 
the public life of Leh, taking their due precedence at public 
entertainments, and are all down-country men, mostly 
Punjabis and Kashmiris. We look for the day when there 
will be enough educated Ladakis to take up these positions in 
their own land. 


CHAPTER. III 
Nature’s Setting 


T has often been pointed out that the characteristics of 

a people are moulded by the country and climate in 
which they live. Certainly for stolidity and endurance 

the Ladakis resemble the massive mountains and ever- 
lasting hills among which are their dwellings. The “ Doctor 
Sahib”’ once accompanied a seasoned Alpine climber with his 
two Swiss guides in an attempt to scale the highest peak in a 
range of mountains beyond the Indus, facing Leh. The 
expedition was unsuccessful owing to the inclement weather 
and the pressure of time, as the mountaineers were on their 
return to Europe, but they spent two memorable days at the 
edge of the glacier capping this great peak, at about 18,000 
feet in a tumult of wind, thunder, lightning, hail and snow so 
fierce that the snow was actually driven through the canvas 
of the Sahibs’ little tent. This just accommodated their two 
beds, and, for the sake of warmth and protection, they 
remained in these for thirty-six hours. The Swiss guides 
also had a small tent, but the Ladaki coolies, who had left 
the main caravan to accompany them, lay down in the snow, 
covered only with their own garments and apparently took 
no harm, In the bitter morning of mid-winter, with the 
thermometer at somewhere below Fahrenheit zero, our 
Ladaki nurse tells us how, coming through the bazar from 
her home, she has passed small boys sleeping out in front of 
the shops as watchmen. Right on the ground, possibly 
having pushed aside a little snow, with little or no covering 

31 


2 Nature’s Setting 


but their scanty garments, these small urchins spend the 
night with only a handful or two of barley-flour as a reward, 
but they cali out a hearty greeting to our nurse as she 
passes, and neither spirit nor body appears to be chilled by the 
exposure. 

We have already noticed the strange mixture of finery and 
rags, the incongruity of fine workmanship and adjacent 
tawdriness. Surely nature herself teaches them this odd 
combination of the sublime and the ridiculous. ‘Think only 
of the many examples on the main road up from Srinagar to 
Leh. As one emerges from the narrow defile which has 
wound up slowly from Pashkim, just beyond Kargil, to the 
Mulbeck Valley and about three miles before the village of 
that name is reached, the gorge opens out into a broad culti- 
vated valley with a great panorama of majestic mountains 
beyond. Here and there in the foreground are soft sand- 
stone cliffs, behind, strange peaks with jagged pinnacles in 
their rugged outlines, rising higher yet sinking in perspective 
as they reach the horizon to stand out clear and sharp against 
the brilliant azure sky, the whole suggesting some gigantic 
upheaval of past ages. As one pursues the winding path in 
and out of soft red-brown sand-hills into the village, the nearer 
hills and the lower extraordinary formations of sandstone on 
the further side of the stream come into prominence. ‘These 
are sculptured by wind, snow and rain into the most grotesque 
shapes, looking in some places like the ruins of some ancient 
village or even turretted castles, the rough outlines of the one- 
time windows presenting the most gnome-like suggestion of 
a forgotten civilization. In other places the stalagmite- 
looking relics are more statuesque, and, opposite the sharp 
turn of the highroad to the left, may be seen across 
the main valley a gigantic looking ruined model of a 
mother with a child at her knees. Over the pass and into 
the next village, again straggling along a wide valley, this 
formation is repeated, and one quaint little cluster of houses 


Nature’s Setting pan 


on the further side of the stream appears to be purposely 
designed to show the evolution of the house from the rock. 
Holes in the cliff itself slowly evolve into the apertures of a 
dwelling, and these merge into the more elaborate windows 
of a house in a graded transition before one’s eyes, whilst 
portions of the rock are used as walls and foundations for the 
buildings, so that it is quite hard to distinguish across the 
valley which is nature’s building and which is man’s. Even 
in the people this similitude to the land and rocks amounts to 
a protective adaptation like that in wild animals and birds. 
How difficult it is to distinguish the ordinary coolie seen on 
the road in the distance. His undyed home-spun, his cap 
and even his face (for his cheeks receive just about as much 
washing as the land receives rain in this dry climate) are 
thoroughly impregnated with the dry dust of the desert. 
His movements alone distinguish him from the grey-brown 
rocks, stones and sand around. Very different indeed is the 
red-robed lama, who can be discerned from afar in a land 
where the atmosphere is so rarefied that distance is incredibly 
fore-shortened. Again it is often absurdly difficult to know 
whether a pile of stones set up by some passer-by to frighten 
away mischievous spirits is a human being standing or sitting 
until one is quite near by, when the stones may suddenly 
resolve themselves into a wayfarer who rises to ask you for 
some m’a-ches (matches) which will enable him to light his 
fire so much more quickly than the flint and tinder which 
depend from his waist. On the road between Bot Kharbu 
and Lamayuru one of the most quaint little clusters of transi- 
tional rock-dwellings suddenly comes into view up a narrow 
ravine on one’s left, and one thinks of the inhabitants, 
the women especially, whose life and world is probably 
confined to this fantastic corner, appropriately named 
Henasku. But all these fantasies are only preparations 
for the incredible scene that lies before one as the final 
corner is turned in the approach to Lamayuru. 


34 Nature’s Setting 


The Photu La, a 13,400 feet pass, has just been crossed, 
at the top of which one seems to have had a bird’s-eye view of 
a world of far-reaching mountain tops, so deserted of any sign 
of humanity that on looking upon this sea of mountains, one 
is reminded of Noah’s dove who, having found “ no rest for the 
sole of her foot,” returned to the company of the Ark. So 
does one’s eye return with a sense of common humanity and 
gratefulness to the unkempt, but triumphant ponymen of 
one’s caravan, who, while their burdened steeds take breath 
after their exhausting climb, themselves pause to rest by the 
‘“Lhato ” erected to mark the top of the pass. ‘This structure 
is a collection of rocks and stones, supporting a crooked staff 
bearing some tags and rags with prayers inscribed on them, 
and with sundry marks of gratitude in the shape of old sheeps’ 
and goats’ horns, or best of all, a bit of yak’s tail, thrown on to 
the pile. In the words So/a, sola, sola, the men express to 
the presiding genius of the pass their own relief and gratitude 
at once more having achieved the ascent, and then cheerfully 
start on the steep downward track. So it is with this majestic 
stretch of billowing mountains filling the mind that one pro- 
ceeds on the way, and then rounds the last corner to see 
Lamayuru. 

But who shall adequately describe this capital of Hob- 
goblin-land in its setting of purple hills, distant snow peaks, 
and brilliant blue sky ? Running down towards the village, inter- 
spersed with “‘chorten”’ fat round structures, rather like gigan- 
tic pepperpots, are long “ mani walls”’ built of stones and 
surmounted by two flattened sides, gently sloping up to meet 
each other, these tops being formed of flat stones covered with 
prayers. Nearer the village they end in arches, often with 
chortens on the top, under which the road may run. The 
village itself is built on the rocky hillside, here formed into 
strange fissures and crags, bridged by crazy-looking shelves, 
which the builders have utilized as well as the firmer founda- 
tions. It looks as if one shake would topple the whole absurd 


Nature’s Setting 35 


structure on to the cultivated fields at the foot. Topping the 
hill and weirdest sight of all stands the monastery, with its 
flat roofs adorned at the corners with holy yak tails and 
prayer-flags. When staying at the rest-house at the edge of 
the fields below the village, the whole grotesque impression 
is especially enhanced in the evening, when the voices of the 
inhabitants going home from the day’s work in the fields are 
loudly amplified owing to some strange acoustic relationship 
between the monastery hill and the one on the opposite side 
of the narrow valley. Moreover, as some of these stragglers 
ascend round the edge of the hill in the evening light, their 
silhouettes are also magnified, so that the whole atmosphere of 
this unparallelled and indescribable fortress of lamaism, makes 
the traveller rub his eyes in the endeavour to awake from such 
a fantastic dream. Before leaving this eerie wonderland there 
appears again a most extraordinary stalagmite formation of 
sandstone, as though whole cities had been tumbled out of 
the bowels of the earth, a veritable disruption of Sodom and 
Gomorrah after centuries of interment. After this, nature 
provides a scene of her wildest and most rugged grandeur. 
The road winds up and down the sides of a wonderful gorge, 
crossing several times the little stream, which gradually 
increases till it finally hurls itself into the Indus as a roaring 
torrent. All the way down the ravine, the road now climbs 
up far above the water, now descends close to it, but never 
leaves its noise, while the rocks provide a constant feast for the 
imagination, a succession of weird imagery, with variations in 
colour and shade, now fantastically suggestive, now boldly 
majestic, until at last the troubled waters are borne away by 
Mother Indus. 

Thus does the grotesqueness of the land constantly manifest 
itself, so frequently emphasized by the human touch, as in 
these long prayer-walls, the longest of which, just outside 
Leh, stretches for half a mile across the desert, looking for all 


the world as though some giant children had been playing 
C2 


36 Nature’s Setting 


trains in the sand, the chortens at both ends resembling clumsy 
engines, the lower one to give an extra push up the hill. 
Then there are the little piles of stones so often put up by 
lonely shepherds, or tired wayfarers, who have made their 
resting-places wherever a big rock will give them shade, 
these themselves in their sauciness looking more likely to 
attract evil sprites than repel them. Often on the tops of 
hills seen from the road side, but apparently on no beaten 
track, having simply invited attention because of their height 
or the suddenness, will be seen /hatos similar to those on the 
tops of passes. 

Yet the strangeness of the land is after all but a minor aspect 
of these mountain uplands. The majesty of range after range 
of glistening peaks and shining glaciers in the regions of ever- 
lasting snow, their everchanging colour from morning to night, 
and from winter to summer, always new, always different, who 
shall tell of their never-failing inspiration, or of their picturesque 
parables? How can the wonderful autumn sunsets seen from 
Spitug close to the Indus in the valley five miles below Leh, 
be described? In a riot of crimson, the sun drops down 
behind the western gate of the valley, the gateway home for us 
of the far west, and leaves the mountains closing in the south- 
eastern gate, the way to the great closed land of ‘Tibet, shrouded 
in mystery, while every possible shade of blue and purple and 
crimson and gold steal across the great ranges flanking each 
side of the long valley, and when to go out and wander along 
the green-turfed flats by the river is to go out to worship. 
Look at those rugged, jagged, cruel pinnacles of rock pointing 
upwards to the sky, as we ascend the Photila on the downward 
road to Kashmir. Do not their crude fingers remind us that 
even the difficult sorrow-filled times of our lives, have their 
directive function ? 

Living year in and year out in these valleys, bounded by 
their mighty ranges with their sense of mysteries guarded but 
capable of interpretation in some beautiful way infinitely 


Nature’s Setting 2 


beyond our limited human ken, can we not feel with the child 
of A. B. Paterson’s poem :— 


“When people die 
They go to the country over the range.,” 


and say with this Australian poet : 


** Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust : 
Our views by a range are bounded too ; 
But we know that God has this gift in store, 
That when we come to the final change, 
We shall meet with our loved ones gone before 
To the beautiful country over the range.” 


Then, too, there is such a joyousness in the land, between 
the long stretches of bare desert of rock and barren hill, which 
have their own beauty, especially when in an autumn setting 
of a blue-green river and an azure sky. Wherever a green 
village snuggles into the brown-red hillside, a rippling stream 
is heard and a cooling breeze felt in the little plantations of 
trees, whilst the soft evening light makes the green corn look 
like plush, or contrasts its autumn gold with the yellow glory 
of the poplars all set against a background of white snow 
peaks and blue sky. Nor must we omit the fairy touch of 
spring, which turns each nestling hamlet into a fairy-land of 
apricot blossom, exquisite prelude to the return of the green 
after the long, bare winter. Surely this joyousness gives our 
people their merry look, their cheerful willingness, and the 
happiness that bursts into song over every kind of work. 

Was there ever a more striking example of the desert 
blossoming as a rose than is seen on the road between Shimshe 
Kharbu and Kargil, where in June and July the bushes are 
aflame with red and pink glory of wild rose, sometimes single 
as our English rose, sometimes double and varying from light 
pink to the deepest crimson, fit reward to the traveller who 
climbs the steep ascent and dares the precipitous paths that 
precede the flowery outburst. In some parts of Ladak bushes 
of yellow roses are to be found, having leaves scented like our 


38 Nature’s Setting 


English sweetbriar. Nestling in the crevices between the 
hard bare rocks and stones of the same march, the beautiful 
fragile-looking columbine rears its dainty white bells, and 
among the driest patches of stone, especially in the neigh- 
bourhood of Kalatse, flowers of the somewhat cyclamen-like 
caper rejoice the eye. One of the most beautiful pictures 
lingering in the memory of a journey from Srinagar to Leh in 
June is provided by the little village of Tashgam, two-thirds 
of the way from Dras to Shimshe Kharbu. MHere at the 
further end of the village by the side of the Dras river is a 
little green plantation of trees, the usual halting place for 
tiffin ; near it a bubbling brook runs down to join the river, 
and scattered about in its course are beautiful bushes of 
tamarisk, waving their prolific feathery blossoms in the breeze 
in a setting of green fields with scattered poplars, and framed 
like most Ladaki pictures, by the softly-graded lights and 
shades of the near hills, between and behind which peep the 
greater white peaks lined against the deep blue of a cloudless 
sky. Inthe summer-time the village walls, formed loosely of 
stones set together with mud, give a foothold to all sorts of 
little feathery plants, one resembling a wild maidenhair with 
wee brown flowers ; but of ferns there seems to be only one 
species, which enjoys those parts of the wall over which the 
water flows to the next terrace in the process of irrigation. 
Ice plants, such as we conserve in pots and rockeries at home, 
with their pinky white flowers abound, and the walls are often 
overgrown with a wild clematis which has the quaintest little 
brown flowers, surely turning into little elves and gnomes 
when no human 1s at hand. The edges of the fields and 
watercourses are adorned with yellow members of the ranun- 
culacee, vetches, purple representatives of the scrophu- 
lariacez, species of milkwort, wild parsley and mint, and even 
dandelions. Belladonna is plentiful to the verge of nuisance 
in our gardens, and lucerne crops up everywhere. Edelweiss 
grows in broad patches over the lawns of the Leh Residency, 


Nature’s Setting 39 


but Nature’s most wonderful show is reserved, like the 
peoples’ little box gardens, for the roof of her world. On 
the Zogi Pass which is the same altitude (11,500 feet) as Leh, 
in the summer months one of the outstanding features is the 
profusion and luxuriance of the flowers. One visitor to 
Ladak, re-crossing the pass in autumn, counted seventy 
different kinds as she rode along on her pony. At the foot 
of the high Kardong Pass behind Leh, at an elevation of 
between 15,000 to 16,000 feet, many of the same varieties 
grow, but they need and amply repay a little search there, as 
they have not the grassy sward of the Zogi, but must seek 
shelter among the stones. Here on these heights, to mention 
a few only, are found yellow Iceland poppies, Michaelmas 
daisies, small deep-blue gentians, forget-me-nots, forming a 
carpet of blue on the Zogi stretches, but replaced by the deep- 
blue of the borage below the Kardong, deep purple orchids, 
primulas in all shades of magenta and purple, cow parsley, a 
kind of stinging nettle, asters, saxifrage, vetches, Canterbury 
bells, and on the Zogi the single anemone and the tall bunched 
Japanese variety, even the green foxglove and the coarse 
edelweiss. 

The highest trees in the land are poplars and two or three 
kinds of willows. A little lower in a few restricted spots are 
pencil cedars, as at Hemis Shukpachan ; these so-called 
“ Shukpa ” trees are holy, and their branches are made use of 
in religious rites. Donkey-loads are brought up to Leh a 
few weeks before Christmas for an annual religious festival, 
and the missionaries secure a load or two for making their 
own Christmas trees. ‘The tree affording most grateful shade 
in Ladak, the Walnut, does not mature its fruit above Nurla, 
and apple-trees do not survive above the Basgo-Nyemo Valley, 
one march below Leh. Nor do apricots ripen much beyond 
stewing purposes in Leh, and our supplies are brought up 
from the lower villages. Wild currant bushes are sometimes 
seen in the lower valleys. Away on the bare hills one would 


AO Nature’s Setting 


hardly credit any green growth at all, yet even here all sorts of 
little herbs and flowering thistles grow, each showing marked 
adaptation to its very dry habitat. Most important of these 
is the pungent-smelling, low-growing, bushy herb called 
Burtsa, which in the wildest places, far from habitation and 
cultivation, serves as fuel for man and food for beast. 

Even now we have forgotten one of the most typical and 
best-known flowers in Ladak, the little stunted blue and 
white iris that springs up all along the water courses, and is 
the first flower to gladden our winter-weary eyes. Like most 
species up here, of plants and animals and even men, it exhibits 
the dwarfed mountain habit, and would look insignificant 
beside its handsome counterpart in Kashmir. 

As regards the fauna of the country, we can better describe 
it under transport and shikar, for under those two headings 
we meet with nearly all the species which occur, but we 
might here add a few words about the birds of the country. 

In the summer of 1923, Mr. B. B. Osmaston, a keen 
ornithologist visited Ladak, and made a list of sixty-seven 
different species of birds that he found in this country. Let 
it be noted that for many of these, the Ladaki has his own 
Tibetan name, showing that he is not only an observer, but a 
lover of nature. We have our residents, and our summer 
and winter visitors. ‘That the latter should find even Leh 
too warm in the summer is surprising. Let us begin with 
our residents. Of the crows and ravens, our friendly 
scavengers, to whom should be added the noisy magpies with 
their constant “cha, cha, cha, cha, cha, cha,”’ we have already 
spoken, but we must not forget the chough with its red or 
yellow bill, who in the early spring builds his nest in the sandy 
cliff near Leh, while pigeons (Rock and Blue Hill) abound. 
Smaller birds on the whole, find the rigours of winter too 
severe, and many of them leave us, their places being taken 
by others, who descend from the higher regions. ‘The 
sparrow we have always with us, and he is kept company by 


Nature’s Setting AI 


the little Grey Tit in his beautiful grey coat and black waist- 
coat and cap. We are not sure about the Dipper in his 
evening dress suit, nor the Crag Martin, but believe that both 
manage to hold out through the coldest months. The hardy 
Mountain Finches (Adams’ and Brandt’s), however, do not 
even come down from the neighbouring heights, where they 
manage somehow to find food all the winter, although quite 
a number of birds from the higher uplands visit us during the 
cold months. The Eagle and the Vulture, finding too much 
snow on the mountains, come down to obtain their food, 
leaving us in the Spring to make room for Hawk, Kite and 
Kestrel. The little Robin Accentor, with his dull red breast, 
also finds the mountains, his summer residence, too cold. 
When the down-country Rosefinch, the Common Redstart 
and the Field and Desert Larks leave us in the autumn, their 
half-brothers, Seventzov’s Rose Finch, Guldenstadt’s Red- 
start and Elwes’ Horned Larks come to represent their 
families. Most of our Desert Chats leave us in spring, only 
a few staying behind to build a nest here and there in the 
deserts round Leh. The winter also provides excellent 
shooting for the sportsman. Besides the ducks, Mallard, 
Tufted Pochard, Ruddy Shelldrake, and Common Teal (to 
mention only a few), and Snipe, which can be found in all the 
swampy little rivulets, the mountains and hills will provide 
Chikor (the partridge so common in India) for his gun and 
his pot, whilst nearer ‘Tibet, the Tibetan Sandgrouse can be 
obtained. If he wants pheasants, these, too, are represented 
up on the snows by the Tibetan or Himalayan Snow Cock, 
who draw immediate attention to themselves by their peculiar 
and shrill whistle which so rapidly ascends the scale. How 
sorry we are to lose the company of these in the spring, for 
not only does this spell the end of happy days in their company 
with a gun, but a return to the everlasting mutton, living as 
we do in a State over which a Hindu Maharajah rules. ‘This 
too, however, has its compensation for now our summer 


42 Nature’s Setting 


migrants appear. First of all the Wagtails come (Hodgson’s 
pied ; grey and yellow-headed), making the streams and 
rivulets bright with their graceful movements and undulating 
flight, soon to be followed by the Siberian Chiffchaff, with his 
monotonous “‘ cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep,” The common 
Redstart, too, is here now, whilst the Hoopoo calls his 
‘““OQoppooppoopp ” (the Ladaki name for him) to the farmer, 
giving him permission to sow his fields, unafraid of serious 
harm to his crops from further cold. ‘The Cuckoo, too, makes 
his song heard occasionally about this time, and now one can 
notice the Western Blue Rock Thrush, whose coat really does 
look a beautiful slaty blue as he sits in the sun. Above the 
river, Gulls and. Tern wheel and sweep, and are kept company 
by Swift and Martin ; on the stones by its side, the Ibisbill 
finds his food, whilst the royal Heron meditates solemnly by 
the water’s edge with his neck well tucked in. So we can 
boast of a varied ornithology, full of interest and change. 
We have already made so many references to climate and 
altitude that the reader will have gathered a fair idea of both. 
The extremes of the climate may be summed up in the oft- 
told saying that if you sit in the shade of a rock, the part of 
your body within the shadow freezes, while that in the sun- 
shine boils! The heat of summer out in the desert is 
intense, for the long stretches of sand and the barren glaring 
rocks seem both to soak up sunshine and reflect it back as it 
pours out of a sky which is so often cloudless. Yet in the 
shade of rocks and trees and in the ordinary life in and about 
a house, it is never oppressive, and there are few summer 
evenings in Leh when an extra wrap is not needed. ‘The 
short summer from June to mid-September sees the ripening 
of the wheat, barley and lucerne crops, the coarse grained 
barley being the more important source of food, and growing 
up to altitudes of over 14,000 feet. In the lower warmer 
villages the summer is longer, and a second crop may be 
raised. All this cultivation 1s entirely kept alive by irrigation, 


Nature’s Setting 43 


dependent on the melting of the winter snows, so that the 
stream from the Kardong which waters Leh is completely 
used up, and never reaches the Indus bed ; the average two 
inches of rain-fall is almost negligible. Although at such an 
altitude, the snowfall of Leh is also not severe, the ‘snows 
exhausting themselves on the surrounding ranges, and it 
rarely exceeds two inches on the ground ata time. It seems 
to evaporate without any intermediate slushy stage and a 
sunny winter is quite pleasant owing to the dryness of the 
cold. It is even quite enjoyable to sit out-of-doors in the 
sunshine during the day time. ‘Though the temperature may 
geo down to minus ten degrees F. in mid-winter, and remain 
by day at about ten degrees below freezing point in a room 
without a fire, its dryness makes it much more bearable than a 
less cold, but damper climate, and for a similar reason the heat 
is much less oppressive than that in India, perspiration being 
hardly perceptible owing to swift evaporation. ‘The spring, 
however, is heralded by bitter piercing winds, and often they 
raise little spiral hurricanes of dust seen chasing across the 
valley from afar, but woe if one of these “* sand-devils ’’ blows 
across your garden and catches up your verandah chairs in its 
wake or fills your room with dust. 

The further effects of altitude and climate on the human 
beings, indigenous and foreign, who dwell in the land, need 
not be dealt with here, but when all is said, the flame of life 
on the whole burns brightly in this land of clear skies and 
bright sunshine. 


CHAPTER IV 
Over the Zogi Pass 


HE road between Leh and Srinagar, the summer 
capital of the Maharajah of Kashmir, and a 
popular hill station for the white man, is one of 
the chief highways to Central Asia, bearing its 
trade to and from India. 

No wonder that one of the meanings attributed to the Zog1 
La, the dread pass that closes this road in winter, is the place 
of four meetings, for the roads from Tibet, Yarkand, Baltistan 
and Kashmir all converge here. 

This road has been described by so many travellers, that 
it would be redundant to add another detailed account of the 
journey up to Leh. Suffice it to mention some of the out- 
standing features and incidents that have impressed them- 
selves on one who has traversed it several times, and for whom 
most of its turns and corners bring to memory an additional 
reminiscence. The lower or Kashmir side of the pass includes 
the first stage to Ganderbal which is generally accomplished 
either by motor, for a car may go even another five to six miles to 
the Suspension Bridge which spans the Sindh, or by boat down 
the Mar Canal and across the Anchar Lake when there is 
enough water, otherwise taking an extra night and going down 
the river Jhelum to its meeting place or “ wedding ” with the 
Sindh river at Shadipur and then up to Ganderbal. Having 
once effected a junction with the Sindh, the marches from 
Ganderbal onwards lead directly up the Sindh river to the 
foot of the Zogi La. This valley is known to so many thou- 

44 


Over the Zogi Pass 45 


sands of summer tourists in the ‘‘ Happy Valley ” of Kashmir, 
and does not properly belong to our land at all, so we will 
leave it for others to describe. Its foaming river and beautiful 
forested hills, are perhaps seen at their best the latter half of 
May, when the fresh green of the early summer contrasts so 
vividly with the evergreen of pines and deodar. ‘The snows 
then are low on the hills, and the glistening giant peaks peering 
over the forested edges of their humbler brethren are outlined 
against a blue sky flecked with soft white clouds, the air is 
still balmy, and the busy rushing torrent so often skirting the 
road not quite so thunderous as when the summer sun has 
brought the melted snows to swell it to a roaring river. ‘This 
certainly is the most joyous time to travel upwards, though 
the wonderful autumn tints challenge any comparison with 
their own beauty, when the winter frost in the high sources of 
the river is already checking its flow, and the mad rush of 
melted snow gives place to a quiet flow of clear blue water. 
The summer heat is then over, but the chill in the air gives its 
presage of winter cold and bareness. So let us start in May, 
leave the early summer in Kashmir, already warm as an 
English mid-summer, and travel upwards towards the spring 
again, reaching Sonamerg, a favourite camping resort, the last 
week of that month, and wondering what awaits us on the 
Zogi, whither a mild winter and the news of an early opening 
have lured us, possibly, too soon. The crossing we now have 
in mind, perhaps the earliest in the year we have experienced, 
was accomplished together with Colonel Theodore and 
Mr. Kermit Roosevelt, sons of the famous President, who 
were travelling up with two other American gentlemen into 
Chinese Turkestan on a big game shooting and scientific 
expedition. With ourselves were two ladies, but this time 
no children, as one had gone home to school, and the other, 
together with her ‘Tibetan nurse, had to be left temporarily 
with doctor friends in Kashmir, as her health would not stand 
a return to the altitude of Leh. Looking ahead we could see 


46 Over the Zogi Pass 


the Sindh valley narrowing and just make out the snow- 
covered crest of a mountain which barred its upper end and 
indicated the site of the pass, about which we must say a few 
words. 

The name Zogi La has another meaning attributed to it by 
the Tibetan, as well as the one just alleged, one which indicates 
the terrors that abound when winter holds it in its icy grip, 
namely the place of four demons. It is a pass of 11,500 feet, 
which separates Kashmir and what to many represents civil- 
ization, from the wild uplands of the Himalayas and the 
mysteries of the “‘ distant morning lands” of Central Asia. 
Though its altitude is not very high for a pass, only equalling 
that of Leh, its difficulties are great. The summer road 
should be open from 15th May to 15th November, for on 
those dates the rates of transport alter from the high winter 
ones indicating coolie porterage only, to the lower summer 
ones of pony transport. In winter the difficulties are often 
insuperable owing to soft snow, blizzards and biting winds, 
and often the mails are delayed two or three weeks before the 
runners dare attempt the crossing, the telegraph wires them- 
selves not infrequently breaking with the weight of snow. 
Traffic is at a standstill from mid-December to early March, 
save for adventurous travellers who, even then, it is stated, get 
themselves carried over in baskets on the backs of coolies, 
sturdy inhabitants of the villages bordering the Ladak side of 
the pass. In the centre of the Zogi La isa rest-house, often up 
to the eaves in snow, called Machoi, situated on the top of a 
small sharp hill, one side of which is sheltered from the pre- 
vailing winds, and has two or three small buildings, a serai 
and a telegraph office nestling under it. The telegraph 
master must have a dreary time in winter, and in the middle 
of May is moved to another post higher up on the road to 
Leh. ‘The winter of 1924-5 was exceptionally mild and very 
little snow fell on the pass. April in Kashmir was a very hot 
month, more like June, and it was expected that the pass 


Over the Zogi Pass A7 


would open earlier than usual. However, the weather broke 
again, and three or four weeks of thunderstorms and heavy 
rains both lowered the temperature and raised apprehensions 
as to the new snow which must lie on the pass, and we waited 
with some anxiety at Sonamerg for news of the road. Having 
greeted the Roosevelt party as they passed through on their 
way to the foot of the pass,and exchanged opinions as to its 
condition over a cup of tea in a tent open both ends to a 
glorious view of snow peaks and pine-covered hills, we settled 
down for a second night at Sonamerg expecting them to 
ascend the pass early next morning. We were in great hopes 
that their large caravan of 60 ponies would tramp out a good 
track for ourselves, and indeed open the summer road, 
which we heard had been mended that day and was ready for 
use. But, alas, mid-day brought clouds and the afternoon a 
gale followed by rain which continued all night, and we 
wondered if they had been able to push on, as this meant fresh 
snow on the pass. The morning was clear and fine, and then 
a few fresh clouds gave their showers, but again the sky 
cleared, and the early afternoon saw us on our way to Baltal, 
a charming halting place at the foot of the pass. As we 
neared it the noise of avalanches two or three times called our 
attention to the falling snows, but the sky was now cloudless, 
and the evening extraordinarily beautiful. We rode along 
the nine miles of valley and arrived at the rest-house to find 
our fellow travellers having tea, to which they invited us, in 
front of the bungalow with its beautiful surroundings, which 
increased in loveliness as the soft rays of evening played on 
the long vistas. We had indeed got back into spring, for 
the trees had hardly donned their fresh new dresses, and 
patches of short purple irises, frittilarias, primulas and other 
fascinating early flowers were peeping out of the grass all 
around. ‘To-morrow we were to go back still further into winter 
snows, and pass over into the land of bare hills and scarce trees. 
After tea, Mr. Cherrie, the ornithologist of the expedition and 


48 Over the Zogi Pass 


Colonel Roosevelt retired into the bungalow to continue their 
work of skinning and preparing birds, of which Mr. Cherrie 
had succeeded in getting twenty-two specimens in Baltal, and 
wanted to get them ready to pack before dark. ‘The rest of 
the bungalow with its two main rooms and verandah was full 
of luggage under shelter. Our own camp soon went up, and 
both parties dined early out-of-doors, so as to be ready for an 
early start in the morning. If only we could get off while the 
snow was still frozen and before the hot sun softened the 
surface, how much easier the going would be. We arranged 
together that the Roosevelts should make a start at five a.m. 
and ourselves follow in their tracks at five-fifteen. The four 
members of the expedition slept in their small but serviceable 
little brown tents, bedding on the ground being much the 
warmest and best for these high uplands, and soon after dusk 
there was silence in both camps. Our own, depending on an 
alarum clock, which failed, rose an hour late to see our neigh- 
bours just before five a.m. finishing their breakfast at their 
out-of-doors table by the light of a candle lantern. However, 
we need none of us have made such efforts, for, alas, as is 
usual at this halt, the ponymen let us down. ‘The grass round 
Baltal is poisonous, and ponies who eat it unwittingly become 
seriously ill, so overnight the owners of the hired transport 
drive their steeds away to the hills to graze, and have difficulty 
in finding and collecting them in the morning. ‘Thus both 
camps had to wait about when all was packed up and ready 
to load. The Roosevelts had a fire of logs, which are easily 
collected in the vicinity, burning merrily, and we were all glad 
to warm our feet in the cold morning air as we waited. At 
last, past six o’clock, the bulk of the pack ponies were off, but 
some still had not been found. ‘Two of our own riding ponies, 
which we discovered soon after we started, were grazing up 
towards the pass, while their owner had gone to look for them 
in the opposite direction, and one or two of the Roosevelt’s 
pack ponies, for which Mr. Kermit Roosevelt waited by his 











DEDICATION OF A NEW MANI WALL. 
At each end are chortens. 


A Monastic Banp. 
One small lay child supports the ends of two long shawms. 


A GREETING. 


Women who have come out to greet the British Joint Commissioner with flour, water, chang 
(local beer) and fire. To the right a ‘‘ band” of welcome is provided by one gentleman ! 


Over the Zogi Pass 4.9 


fire, were also late. A stalwart figure he looked, ready to 
brave the elements in his solar topi, serviceable khaki shorts, 
leather waiscoat and short khaki coat with interesting bulges 
round the bottom which apparently was double so as to form 
a continuous pocket all round. He soon caught up his 
caravan, climbing the steep side of the valley, while we all 
wound up the zigzag summer road, a broad path cut high 
up in the side of the cliff. It was not under snow in the steep 
part of the ascent, though as it rounded a big bay there were 
two avalanches to cross by a narrow track; these always 
persist well into the summer. At the top of this steep ascent 
we came upon continuous snow, and our difficulties began. 
There was a big hold-up while coolies with spades dug a path 
across an avalanche which had been re-covered with fresh 
snow. It led down a short steep descent to the main valley, 
where the winter road up the central gorge joined the summer 
one. Huddled in the middle of a long line of ponies on the 
narrow snow track, with a precipice on one side sloping down 
to the valley, we could see ahead first one of the expeditionary 
sahibs with one or two servants, behind them their empty 
riding ponies, while further back the laden animals slowly 
began to flounder down the improvised path over the avalanche 
to the main valley. Some got on fairly well, others plunged 
about, one rolled over and his pack after him, but at the bottom 
seemed none the worse for his fall. In the valley again we 
tried to go ahead, but there were long waits while the four 
sahibs in the front made a track. At last we seemed to get a 
move on, unable, of course, as yet to ride, for by now the sun 
was quite warm, and the surface snow very soft. A little 
further on we passed a poor empty riding pony in trouble, 
for it had eaten the poisonous grass at Baltal and was 
grievously ill, in fact the unhappy beast had only been dragged 
up the steep ascent to die at the top, and had given up its life 
before we had all passed. In this sort of travelling each way- 


farer must get on as best he can, and one passes and is passed 
D 


50 Over the Zogi Pass 


according to the exigencies of the road, so that from time to 
time one’s fellow travellers vary. In this way, the Doctor 
Memsahib, who was riding their well-known old pony, a 
sturdy white Zankskari who had been with the missionaries 
of Leh some thirty years and served them well in return for 
the care he had received from his babyhood, got ahead of the 
rest of the party, with one of their servants, and was able to 
ride every now and then, for Dromar is a wonderful old pony 
in the snow, and the more difficult the road, the more he raises 
his head and steps out to overcome the difficulty. Dis- 
mounting every now and again to let him be led swiftly along- 
side over the trackless soft snow, so as to get in front of another 
batch of slow-going laden ponies, then up again for a space 
over the trodden-out track till another lot of burdened toilers 
were passed, she soon got ahead. Here and there the laden 
animals sank very deeply, sometimes the snow lay on thin 
ice which would not bear the ponies’ weight, and in they went 
to the shoulders, occasionally leaving their packs on the top 
of the snow. Even in walking one not infrequently stumbled 
into some softer underlayer and became wet to above the 
knees. Presently we came to a narrow ford, with the expedi- 
tionary sahibs waiting at the other side, and Mr. Cutting, 
their Cinema man, poised with his camera to catch the pack 
ponies as they floundered off the snow bank into the little 
stream and clambered up the ice and snow on its further 
edge. ‘This ford seemed merely to add to Dromar’s enjoy- 
ment, bringing, who knows, what reminiscences of high pass 
and mountain stream in his long life of faithful service. 
Somewhere about here we noted a telegraph wire sagging 
right down under the snow, no doubt broken by its weight. 
A little further on was a small hut, just a rude shelter of roof 
and wall. Here again the American Sahibs were waiting 
and looking back to see how their caravan was coming, and their 
care for their pack animals was again demonstrated, when, 
having crossed a snow bridge over the main stream of the 


Over the Zogi Pass 51 


watershed, now running in the opposite direction, the Doctor 
Memsahib came upon the party sitting on a ridge of bare 
earth and stones, which had thrust out from the surrounding 
snow, where it was more exposed to the sun and less could 
have settled. They explained that they did not like the look 
of that snow bridge and were waiting to see if it would stand 
the strain of pack animals, meanwhile cogitating where best 
to make a track down and across the stream should it show 
signs of giving. The Doctor Sahib and the other two ladies 
reached this spot just when the owner of the dead riding pony 
came up, howling with all his might, less for the fate of his 
animal than for the compensation he hoped to get by the 
compassion his noise inspired. The road soon re-crossed 
over a stronger snow bridge to the original side. About a 
mile beyond this round a corner came the welcome sight of 
the Machoi Bungalow, perched on its little hill athwart the 
valley, and with its proximal slope free of snow and showing 
the serais and other buildings offering their shelter. Dromar 
stepped from the heavy snow-path on to this terra firma with 
much vim, and ascended the hill with great zest as though 
only beginning his day’s work. The Memsahib soon got 
the caretaker to unlock the bungalow, threw off wet boots 
and stockings, put them to dry in the sun, and in its warmth 
sat looking back and watching the long train of animals slowly 
moving over the snow, the black spots on the vast expanse of 
white like a veritable train of ants. The Doctor’s party did 
not attempt to go further that day, but the Roosevelts waited 
a little in the vicinity till all their caravan had caught up, and 
then proceeded about two miles further, where the small 
plateau on the beginning of which Machoi stands again 
descends steeply to the main valley. On this descent also 
there was practically no snow, and they were able to pitch their 
tents while their ponies sought what grazing they could on 
the bare slope. But besides their sixty ponies and our 


twenty, another small caravan was crossing the pass that day, 
D2 


52 Over the Zogi Pass 


belonging to the Rajah of Khaplu, a gentleman distinguished 
by the title of “ Jo,” who was bringing his family home after 
the winter in Srinagar. His twelve ponies and those of some 
odd traders who had joined the procession brought the 
number of animals to well over one hundred, so that the long 
string of black ants on that white snow was a picture worth 
remembering. The Jo Sahib had a son about fifteen, one 
younger, a little girl of two, and his wife travelling with him. 
The latter being a purdah Mussulman lady, was conveyed in 
a dandy closed by curtains and carried by four coolies, changed 
at intervals. How this lady had endured the gyrations of her 
carriage as it swung about in every angle and in every plane, 
when first one and then another coolie stumbled and floun- 
dered in and out of the soft snow and up and down the rough 
road, it is hard to imagine. It would seem preferable to be 
carried on someone’s back like the wee girl, and at least see 
the meaning of such alarming movements. But worse still 
was to come, at least to our Western minds. For when the 
traders brought up the rear of the procession, a pony was seen 
stumbling along with its usual pack burdens on each side, 
but sprawled across the top between them on her abdomen, 
face forwards, stockinged feet behind, her head covered with 
the usual durkha, and secured by a rope with the rest of the 
load, was a Yarkandi woman. Peeping through the eyelets 
of her headdress she could see all that was coming, and tied 
down as she was, must remain helpless, swaying with the rest 
of the pack in response to every stagger and stumble of her 
pony. ‘Typical it seemed to Western eyes, of the place to 
which woman is too often relegated in these lands—a necessary, 
but onerous part of the baggage. 


CHAPTER V 
Into Ladak 


T daybreak next morning we were off again. On 
the whole there was less snow on this side of the 
pass, and by about six a.m. we reached the 
Roosevelt’s camping ground on the hillside, the 

front of their caravan just debouching down the valley, those 
in the rear still standing about in groups, as their loads were 
fastened on. Ahead of all could be seen the sun-helmeted 
figures of the four sahibs. The stretch of road now to be 
covered brought vividly to the Doctor Memsahib’s mind the 
last time she travelled upwards over it. That year the winter 
snow had been excessive and though the Zogi was not crossed 
till the middle of June there were still long stretches com- 
pletely covered with it. To grown-ups this would have been 
no obstacle but we had with us then our two children, Helen 
the elder being five, and Josephine the younger not seven 
months. The former rode a pony, and, having no khud 
sense at all, was perfectly happy save when fatigue overtook 
her. ‘The wee mite was carried in a wicker cot with a pole 
which the coolies swung on their shoulders passing under 
wicker loops attached below the roof. In this nest she slept 
serenely, and, even when her blue eyes opened on the white 
world around, she was blissfully unconscious of all danger. 
It was the mother who was all too susceptible to every diffi- 
culty, potential as well as real. When one of the coolies 
slipped in the track on the steep hillside sloping acutely down 
to the rushing river below, and the little cot swayed dizzily 
53 


54 Into Ladak 


for a moment, it was she who caught her breath in dread 
suspense ; but there was always another figure in attendance 
who was quick to give an extra hand. ‘This was Choskyit, 
the children’s Ladaki nurse, a faithful, delightful woman, and 
a picturesque lady as she rode along in her dark plum-coloured, 
full-skirted Ladaki home-spun, with a fur-lined waistcoat 
fastened on the shoulder in Tibetan style, and her red velvet 
Ladaki hat turned up at the back and sides, showing the black 
lamb-skin lining. Large round hoops of seed pearls with a few 
small turquoises and red stones adorned her ears and framed 
her kind cheerful face, which gave the lie to the rather barbar- 
ous leather horsewhip she carried. Riding behind her baby’s 
dandy, scolding the men roundly when they carried it 
crookedly or loitered, she was off her pony in a minute to lend 
her aid in any time of need, to adjust the curtain to a change 
in the direction of the sun at a turn in the road, or to see that 
the little one was comfortable and happy. So trustworthy 
was she that she and the baby were always sent off first in the 
early morning, the parents catching up before the stop for the 
roadside meal. And now again the Memsahib had reached 
the piece of road where the track led over the frozen ice and 
snow, undermined by the rushing river, so that every now 
and then it ended abruptly where another large piece had 
cracked off the bank and remained tilted up at an acute angle 
into the river. At such places a new path was beginning to 
be trodden out further up the hillside, but, when it joined the 
old one again, one wondered how long before any new piece 
would in turn yield to the pressure ; whether perhaps one’s 
own pony would prove to be “ the last straw,” and pony and 
rider suddenly find themselves taking a sideways somersault 
into the river. However, the baby was now safely in Srinagar, 
so there were no fears for her, and such dangers as the road 
presented merely acted as thrills to the grown-up mentality. 
Again Dromar went ahead and his rider found herself in the 
company of the head cook of the expedition. Going along 


Into Ladak eis 


together with his help every now and then to hold the stirrup 
for remounting after a nasty bit, and conferring with him as to 
the track advisable to pursue when the path suddenly broke 
off into the now increasing river, they conducted such con- 
versation as the Memsahib’s limited Hindustani would allow. 
So over snow and stream we journeyed, then, coming at last 
to an open plain free from snow, where Dromar could indulge 
in his favourite amble, we parted like “* ships that pass in the 
night.” 

It was on this part of the pass that we distinguished the call 
of some of its inhabitants. Not only the shrill cry of the 
marmot was heard in the stillness of this wilderness of bare 
stone and rock peeping out of the patches of snow a silence 
only broken by the rushing stream, but even the spring call 
of the cuckoo came frequently across the clear air, while nearer 
Matayan the song of the soaring lark trilling in exquisite 
joyousness, floated on the air. The song of the cuckoo 
recalled a previous crossing in mid June of another year, with 
late snow, but far less than at this time, for just about the same 
place its call was heard, and could be traced to one pathetically 
lonely tree up on the hillside. Here also at a bend in the river, 
which was a fierce, wide, rushing torrent by June, a zo, the 
hybrid between the yak and the cow, was seen struggling in 
the water. We thought it had arrived there by a mishap, but 
were surprised to be forced to the conclusion that it was 
purposive, for, steering a calculated course very slantingly 
across the tremendous current, it ultimately was deposited on 
the other side, got out, shook itself, and walked calmly on to 
seek pasture, as though such an immersion were a daily 
occurrence, 

Dromar soon overtook the walking expeditionary sahibs, 
and, as on the previous day, drew up at the head of the whole 
procession at Matayan Rest-house, the pass with all its dangers 
and difficulties now well behind. One pleasing ceremony 
Was missing at this snowy crossing. It is usual when a white 


56 Into Ladak 


man crosses the pass for the first time, for the ponymen to 
present him as he nears the rest-house with a little posy of 
flowers, which he is supposed to acknowledge with the usual 
rupee, an exchange of mutual compliment and congratulation 
on the safe accomplishment of the crossing of man and beast, 
but with the pass covered in its white mantle, there was too 
much concern for real safety to attend to this little ritual, even 
had Nature been able to prepare her spring favours. It was 
amusing to recollect how on coming down from Leh one 
August with their five-and-a-half months’ baby who had been 
born up there, the Doctor and his wife had paid toll for the 
infant’s first crossing though they themselves were exempt. 
On this second day several of the travellers suffered with sore 
eyes, and a bottle of eye lotion which the Doctor Memsahib 
happened to have with her was in great request. “Two or 
three natives were passed, heads directed downwards, one 
with a precious umbrella, another even holding an end of his 
puggaree across his painful eyes. One of our party had a 
severely inflamed eye in spite even of glasses and veil, and this 
snow blindness is extremely painful. Among the patients 
was the elder son of the Rajah of Khaplu, who was found with 
his family at Matayan, and, although we arrived there at just 
after nine a.m., they had not started off on the next march, 
Matayan being the full stage from Baltal which they had 
actually achieved the previous day. ‘The Doctor Memsahib 
went in to see the purdah lady and found her perfectly com- 
posed and cheerful and ready for her next bumping. Mean- 
while the Roosevelt party had passed on to Dras, twelve miles 
further, having only come four or five miles from their 
camping place. ‘The Doctor’s party stopped to lunch or 
rather “ brunch” (for this roadside meal is usually a com- 
bination of breakfast and lunch) on the bungalow verandah, 
and, when the ponymen came up, they said they would prefer 
to go on to Dras rather than stay the night at Matayan, as 
there is no pony fodder there. So we took to the road again, 


Into Ladak Be 


the snow having now receded to the distant hills and left our 
path clear, and by about three p.m. reached Dras. 

But we must not, in all fairness to the Zogi, leave it as 
though its presiding demons always held sway. In the three 
months of July, August and September, this dreaded road 
loses all its difficulties and is transformed into one of nature’s 
most beautiful flower gardens. AQ visitor to Leh re-crossing 
it at the end of August describes it as follows : “ The Zogi on 
our return journey was one vast flower garden and rockery, 
impossible in its wealth of beauty to describe. From my 
pony’s back, I counted seventy different wild flowers crossing 
the Zogi La alone. ‘There were carpets of edelweiss and blue 
gentian, mauve daisies, yellow ragwort, pink ‘ coralflower ’ 
and rich purple pelargonium. ‘The whole hillside in one part 
would be sky blue with a sheet of forget-me-nots, further 
beyond the rich verdure of the grass there would be a mass of 
pink or mauve where the flower grew in rich profusion.’’* 
After the bare hills of Ladak, the green slopes are extra- 
ordinarily verdant, and large flocks of sheep and goats are 
brought up here from the Plains in summer to pasture. We 
were particularly interested, one August, when stopping for 
the night at Machoi on our way down, to notice one of these 
enormous flocks pass near the rest-house in single file. One 
after another they came in unceasing procession, over one 
thousand of them, tall Kashmiri goats with their look of foolish 
fearfulness ludicrously mixed with the patriarchal solemnity 
lent by their tufted beards, all of them so expressive, and many 
with irrisistibly humorous resemblances to one’s human 
acquaintances, sheep of all sorts, mothers bleating and young 
ones following: it seemed as if they would never end. Fortu- 
nately for us their shepherds had set up a little camp quite 
near us at the foot of the great glacier behind Machoi, and we 
were able to procure a little fresh goat’s milk from them 
instead of resorting to tins. With the words and tune of the 

* Tales of Tirah and Lesser Tibet. Mrs. Lilian Starr. 


58 Into Ladak 
song “The Lord God planted a garden” running in the 


writer’s ears, the following adaptation evolved in response to 
the surrounding scenery : 


Sonc oF THE Zocr La 


The Lord God planted a garden, 
Up here on the roof of the world, 
Where in winter the snow was warden, 
And the wild winds swept and whirled. 
So near to the gates of heaven, 
Its Gardener lived in the sky, 
And colour and fragrance blended 
To gladden the passer-by. 


And there on the verdant hillside 
Were pastures clean and sweet, 
Tucked in with fleecy cloudlets 
Where sky and hilltop meet. 
And many a glistening glacier 
Gave birth to a shining stream 
That bore the life-giving water 
To where the great rivers gleam. 


CHAPTER: VI 
Back to Lamaland 


T Matayan we have really crossed the Zogi, but 
it is at Dras that we change our transport, and see 
the last of the steeds and their syces (grooms) who 

’ have brought us over. The former place consists 
of a few huts, a serail (caravanserai) and a bungalow, in a 
desolate wind-swept spot with practically no supplies acces- 
sible. Probably owing to wind and weather the traveller is 
here left to his own resources, with the result that several 
visitors have launched into poetry, of which there is an amusing 
collection of rhymes in the bungalow book. The rest-house 
has two small rooms with well-boarded windows and a limited 
verandah with a windscreened corner. Here the Memsahib 
has recollections of a real pressure of accommodation. ‘Travel- 
ling down from Leh to send her elder child off home to school, 
and to try the effect of the lower altitude on the ill-health of 
her little one of two-and-a-half, an awkward incident occurred 
between Dras and Matayan, for one of the zos carrying 
luggage fell down the khud, and his load rolled on into the 
stream. The locks of a suitcase were broken on the boulders, 
and away floated all the baby’s warm clothes for the return 
journey and daintier ones for the civilization of Srinagar, and 
also all the contents of a sewing basket, whose empty case 
remained in position in the crown of a hat, not a nice quandary 
to be left in with two children, and no needle or cotton, so far 
out in the wilds! A yakdan, with all the Memsahib’s 
civilized clothes, shoes, books and incidentally money—was also 

59 


60 Back to Lamaland 


brought out of the river broken and sopped through, but with 
all the contents intact. A little beyond the scene of the 
accident, news of which reached us at our roadside meal, we 
met over thirty ponies, the advance half of a caravan belonging 
to a party of seven Swedish missionaries who we knew were 
on the way up, bound for Yarkand, a month’s journey beyond 
Leh. Since the Great War the members of this Mission have 
had to reach their posts by a three months’ journey through 
India and over the Karakorums, whereas in times of peace it 
had taken them only three weeks to travel via Russia and the 
Transiberian railway. Now they could only get to and fro 
in early autumn, over roads and passes compared with which 
the Leh-Srinagar road is a promenade, yet in one year these 
heroic folk brought two babies under a year old through Leh, 
one travelling in each direction. We inquired from the 
ponymen where the sahibs were stopping, and they replied 
Machoi, so as soon as we reached Matayan we established 
ourselves literally all over the room, for the wet goods salvaged 
from the water were taken out and spread over every available 
shelf, peg, and article of furniture, as well as weighted down 
on the hot stones out in the sun and wind. 

The other room of the bungalow was occupied by a 
Yarkandi lady and her family who were travelling down with 
us. ‘This lady’s husband had been Aksakal (a kind of minor 
Consul) for the British Government in Leh, but was now a 
trader. She was suffering from an abdominal tumour, for 
which she had steadily refused surgical interference until it 
was much too large to risk removal in the altitude of Leh, 
where collapse after such operations so often occurs. When 
at last her husband returned from a long trading visit to 
Yarkand, they were at length persuaded to come down to 
Srinagar under the Doctor Memsahib’s wing, their two boys 
travelling with them, so that she might take her only remaining 
chance of life. ‘The lady had been almost moribund in Leh, 
but with careful treatment and plenty of fresh air after years 


Back to Lamaland 61 


of purdah, when her roof or enclosed court-yard afforded the 
only resort for outdoor exercise, she so much improved that 
she arrived in Kashmir a different woman, having covered the 
miles mostly in a dandy but often astride on their own quiet 
horse. Here she was operated upon in the Zenana Mission 
Hospital by women surgeons, and a tumour weighing twenty- 
four pounds removed. She made such an uninterrupted 
recovery that she was able to return to Leh with her family 
before the winter closed the pass. 

But to come back to Matayan, we had just finished spreading 
our things out to dry, and were beginning tea, when the seven 
missionaries bound for Yarkand arrived. In the evening, 
they found the wind too strong and the ground too dry and 
hard to hold their tent pegs, so eventually two of their ladies 
slept in a small room with the two children and their Ladaki 
nurse, the other two and the Doctor Memsahib and two 
gentlemen, on the small verandah, while a third gentleman, 
seized with a bad attack of malaria, had to suffer his high fever 
and rigors in the bathroom. Such is life on the road ! 

On the upward journey the path descends from Matayan 
by the side of the river, as it rushes off the Zogi, and 
trees have now been left behind, but the hills and rocks are 
very beautiful and the vegetation and flowers of great interest. 
In the village of Pandras, just across the first bridge, one 1s 
introduced to the gnomish dwellings and weird unkempt 
inhabitants of Ladak, though we are not in Buddhist country 
yet, but in the intermediate Mussulman province of Purig, 
where a mixed race of Ladakis and Baltis live. Passing down 
the gorge the only shelter for our roadside meal is a big rock 
on the right, near a waterfall tumbling over the cliff on the 
left, and on a hot day to sit under it is really to experience 
‘the shadow of a mighty rock within a weary land.” 

The Dras bungalow is also famed for wind-and generally 
much abused, but we have always been glad to spread out in 
its many little rooms, and especially to enjoy a bath in the 


62 Back to Lamaland 


delightful little streamlets that come gurgling from the valley 
behind. Sad to say this naughty stream carried off the false 
teeth of a friend of ours on one occasion, so ablutions in its 
waters should be accomplished with care. Even this bun- 
galow’s accommodation was well taxed when the Doctor 
Memsahib came through with her children, and found a party 
there on their way down from Leh, with one gentleman 
suffering badly from altitude collapse, and a cook who was 
supposed to be taking drugs. Presently a third patient came 
up from a camp near-by whose history, past and present, like 
another famous person’s, seemed to include every disease 
except housemaid’s knee, and who certainly was the last sort 
of woman who should have attempted such a journey for 
pleasure. 

The march from Dras to Shimshe Kharbu is one of the 
longest, and a pleasant memory comes of a lazy morning at 
the bungalow, and, after an early tea, a ride down the long 
sloping plain with its green fields and sparse clumps of trees, 
the soft lights of evening playing round the nearer green hills 
and the further bare or snowy ones. It was on this stretch of 
cultivation that a loose pony once suddenly rushed up and 
wantonly tried to bite our famous old Dromar with no pro- 
vocation whatever. ‘The latter’s rider much regretted he had 
no whip in his hand, for Dromar needed no urging himself. 
Our evening ride brought us into camp at Dundeltang, a small 
riverside dagh, opposite a mighty glacier. Round a corner a 
mile or so beyond this was a precipitous bit of path where a 
luggage pony was edged over by his stronger brethren, whilst 
their guardians stopped to drink at a spring in the rock, and 
all curios collected in Ladak by the owner of the load, and his 
change of clothes, were drowned with it. Far more terrible 
was the tragedy which occurred at Dundeltang some years 
later, when a young American, travelling to Leh with friends, 
left his tent for an early morning stroll by the river, and was 
never seen alive again. His disappearance remained a com- 


Back to Lamaland 63 


plete mystery until his body was found some weeks later about 
thirty miles further down the river, after its junction with 
the Suru. 

But let us get on to that beautiful little stopping place 
where we have our tiffin at the further end of Tashgam village, 
still by the river, which we have with us through the whole 
of this march. Here in June is that fairy-land of waving 
blossom to which we have already referred, its bushes dotted 
about the course of a tumbling stream, with a few tall poplars, 
standing up against the blue sky, and a background of great 
brown mountains relieved by a glistening glacier. Crossing 
a rough little bridge, or wading through the stream, we shall 
find a cool bagh awaiting us, with the river near enough to 
rejoice, but not disturb us. A little way beyond we cross 
another bridge over a very strongly rushing, angry bit of river, 
and just over it, with the path levelled on a precipitous cliff 
above the tumultuous waters, and the ground steeply rising 
above its inner side, we remember the thoughtlessness of some 
“zos,” grazing on the almost bare hillside above the path, 
who, as they moved, loosened large stones which arrived in 
our vicinity, much to our ponies’ alarm. 

The next bungalow at Shimshe Kharbu is a nice roomy one. 
The river rushes along below a deep precipice on the left, 
though not too steep for us to find a way down to a delightful 
side-pool, inviting a dip in the cold invigorating water. ‘The 
slope of the river-bed is so marked, and the rush of water so 
tremendous, that at night its very noise 1s apt to keep one 
awake. ‘The cook-houses are opposite the bungalow and at 
right angles with it, and, when sitting, on the verandah, one’s 
eyes are fascinated by the goblin-like expression of the nearest 
chimney, whose two slits look like mischievous eyes leering 
wickedly, the goblin impression being increased a hundred- 
fold as dusk creeps on, and curly blue smoke issues from the 
four sides. It was here that the Doctor Sahib gave one of 
his very rare beatings, for a pony came in heavily laden and 


64 Back to Lamaland 


terribly lame. Discovering the owner, that gentleman 
received a lesson on his back, which lost considerably in its 
application and came to a premature conclusion by the stick 
breaking on his heavy homespun garments. 

The next day’s march was also enlivened by a similar 
incident, for the Doctor as he walked, came up with a Yarkandi 
merchant urging his already well-laden pony along, and then 
added his own well-clad fat self to the load. Coming to a 
channel across the path the animal overladen with its double 
burden, did not jump with sufficient vigour, and the rider gave 
it a vicious beating. ‘To his great surprise, he immediately 
felt a similar beating on his own back, and, stout of build as 
he was, he and his companions all dismounted at the command 
of the white man and continued on foot. Further on is a 
spot where we once saw a pony left to die by the roadside. It 
could still lift its head feebly, although the vultures had 
already removed the upper eye as it lay on its side. Unfor- | 
tunately we had neither gun nor knife with us, and after 
discussing whether we should be successful in giving the coup 
de grace with a big stone or merely add to its agony, we feared 
the latter, and had to pass on. 

But there are other memories of this bit of road, for it was 
here that we saw one June “the wilderness blossoming as 
a rose,” and not only as a rose, for in many little sheltered 
nooks and crannies of the big boulders white aquilegias 
clustered, so fragile-looking in their hard stone setting. 
Further on, just past a joyous “‘ watersmeet’’ where another 
stream joins the Dras river, we always look for a funny little 
nook under a big overhanging slab of stone, so typical of the 
little sheltering places which meet the simple needs of our 
Ladaki brethren, as the traces in blackened stones put together 
for a camp fire, shew. But on the upward road we lunch at 
Chanegund, a little d2gh on a small plateau with the village 
of Chuli Skampo (dry apricot) still higher on the hill above. 
We notice some houses and a little area of cultivation on the 


Back to Lamaland 65 


other side with tracks leading in and out, and we wonder at 
the inhabitants who spend their whole lives there, and possibly 
never even reach the bridge some four miles away, that would 
lead them to a comparative civilization. This is the suspen- 
sion bridge over which the road branches off for Skardu, the 
capital of Baltistan, but we keep straight on and where the 
Dras river pours into the swiftly flowing Suru, turn a sharp 
corner, and slowly wend our way into Kargil, enjoying the 
gradual opening out into a broad valley, and the soft lights on 
the distant hills. Kargil is the capital of Purig, and even has 
a small bazaar, but its rest-house is famed among those of us 
who know the road well for the unpleasant amount of personal 
“shikar ” (hunting) that must always be done there. 

The next day we set out with pleasant anticipations, for we 
shall at last really re-enter Lamaland, our own Ladak. This 
is the longest march of all, and this, too, we have sometimes 
varied by getting the first few miles done the previous evening, 
and enjoying all the special glories of the westering sun. So we 
remember, as we round one corner, how the long rays caught 
the figure of a woman on the other side of the gorge, as she 
rounded the top of a small hill, and exaggerating the furry 
outline of her rough sheepskin and her unkempt hair, made 
our companion, new to the country, exclaim “ Just look at 
that bear.” For some miles along this march, we note the 
remains of a long aqueduct which was laid out to bring water 
to an extensive plateau just above Kargil, with the hope of 
transforming its desert barrenness into cultivated fields, but 
alas! when the source was directed into the channel it was 
inadequate and after all the expenditure incurred, not a drop 
reached the dry acres. 

At the end of the first few miles is the village of Pashkyim, 
a long pleasant area of green valley reposing in its peaceful 
hills. Once when we camped there on our downward way it 
was anything but peaceful, for a wind-storm arose and blew 


masses of dust into our tents, and into a meal on which we 
E 


66 Back to Lamaland 


were engaged, becoming so violent that our tents partly blew 
down we were partly helped to descend, for its inhospi- 
tality drove us on into Kargil. ‘The camping ground isa very 
pleasant one near some mills by a stream. On through a 
gradually narrowing gorge to Lotsun, where half of the whole 
march is done, then through Darkit, where the “ headman ” 
of the wee village is a woman, and then at last the defile opens 
out, and the mountains round the valley of Mulbek come into 
view. 

As we emerge we see our first chortens on the hill on our 
right, and a little further on we notice that another broad 
valley enters the Mulbek one at an obtuse angle, while whole 
ranges of mountains come into view, vast upheavals at all sorts 
of angles. Still a little further till we have to turn our heads 
well round on the right, then at last we spy, built into the side 
of the rock behind and facing that other valley, Shergol, our 
first lamasary, the queerest, most elfish of structures, only 
distinguishable by its whitewash from the rocky formation 
into which it seems to merge. Now indeed we are back into 
Lamaland. Even before this, while watching for our first 
dGonpa (monastery), again a perfect little picture has claimed 
our attention on the left. A dear old grandmother, with her 
white uncovered locks blowing round her cheery wrinkled old 
face, is standing near a mossy-looking rock from which spring- 
water 1s falling, with her picturesque country basket, a four- 
sided structure converging to a cone-like point, at her side. 
This is a medicinal spring, famed for its tonic effect on the 
stomach, but on inquiry, the old lady says she has been applying 
the water to her arms and shoulders for which it is also remedial. 
Evidently she suffers from rheumatism in her old age. 

The next part of the road has already been referred to in 
our third chapter with its ludicrous resemblances to scenes 
and statues, all the more fantastic for the stately majesty of the 
ereat hills behind. Had the long march so wearied us that 
we were getting dreamy, or was that really an old judge in 


Back to Lamaland 67 


his wig standing over there, with a markedly malevolent look 
in one big bad eye, seeming to watch with great resentment 
the intrusion of our Western selves into his valley ? Certainly 
that eye follows us till we are level with him, after which 
suddenly turning, we find that he too has turned back again 
to see what other intruders will follow, and we wonder how 
the rest of our party will stand his evil scorn. ‘Then our eye 
falls on a giant emerging with his broom from his cave, from 
which we can trace the track down which he goes to fetch 
water. His face is hidden, but shoulder, arm and broom 
are clearly visible. What mystery is he brooming out with 
such persistence? A little further we spy a Mongolian- 
looking female, eyes closed, and flattened nose turned up in 
utter disgust at our European smell. So, though the last few 
miles are generally the longest, these are more than beguiled 
by all the strange wizard-like forms and fairy-like scenes we 
see depicted opposite, varied with glimpses into deep narrow 
ravines with more weird formations, suggesting the strangest 
mysteries. 

Our attention is diverted, however, by Mulbek’s monastery, 
perched high up on inaccessible-looking crags and dominating 
the whole valley. Strange and sudden on its perch, fascinating 
in its form and outline, we at last turn down under its very 
shadow to the pologround, onthe nearer sideof which is the rest- 
house, and on the further side the central stream. All along 
we have been noting how exactly the strange dwellers of this 
valley fitted the scenery from head to foot, indeed especially 
head-dress and footgear, no doubt contributing to our feeling 
of being intruders. ‘The chuckling fat babies with their nun’s 
style of close-fitting cap, tucked into one of the aforementioned 
baskets, and left on the edge of the field in which their care- 
taker is busy, are particularly attractive. At the bungalow 
we find a lot of respas (turn-men) waiting to secure the job of 
our transport for the next day. In our staff is a coolie boy 


from a village near Leh, who came to us utterly destitute in 
E2 


68 Back to Lamaland 


Srinagar, wearing a puggaree, a pair of trousers, and a warm 
shirt with military breast pockets, in which he apparently 
carried all his worldly goods, rather to the confusion of the 
natural outlines of his broad manly chest. This boy, a 
Mussulman named Ibchung (little Abraham) constantly 
delighted us by his cheery ways, and naive enjoyment of life. 
Seeing our interest in these strange people, he promptly 
marshalled them before us and shewed them off as though he 
had specially collected them for the purpose. Dirty and 
ragged, but delightfully cheery, enjoying us as we did them, 
all looked ready to pop into a fairy tale. One with a red cap 
was quite the dandy of the party, another wrinkled old man 
with hair untidily fringing out of his pigtail and round his 
face, had a big cavern between two isolated teeth. ‘There 
was a boy with a coarsely-quilted sleeveless padded waistcoat, 
even at the end of May. Here was a living representative of 
Absalom, a Balti wearing a little round cap with rolled up 
edges, dark curling locks falling on to each shoulder, big 
black eyes, and, unlike our Buddhist Ladakis, an expression 
of utter gloom. 

As we waited for our luggage, we noted the paraphernalia 
attached to the people,as demonstrated by Ibchung. One 
old chap with bracelets of wool on his arm was spinning from 
it on to a little wooden spindle. From his wool he would 
make sacks, carpets or ropes. His was black wool from a 
cow, while another, filling his enforced idleness with like 
industry, was spinning from the white wool of a goat, twirling 
the spindle almost unconsciously as he gazed at us. In their 
belts and about their persons was quite an array of instru- 
ments, such as flint and tinder, knife, long spoon, spectacles 
in case, sewing purse and pen-case, the last empty as is usual 
with these people. ‘These were all depending from the waist, 
and often a large brass soup or tea ladle was stuck in the folds 
of their ample sash behind. In front, hanging by a small 
chain, one man had a little pair of broad-ended forceps for 


Back to Lamaland 69 


extracting thorns or obstrusive whiskers, the nasal vibrissae 
being special objects of dislike. Some wore necklaces of 
turquoise and coral or red beads, others had ear-rings and 
many had bracelets, often in the form of a clasp not quite 
meeting round the wrist, whose two ends represented the 
heads of snakes. As we turned to attend to our luggage we 
gave them a coloured picture torn from the back of a magazine, 
and they carried it off and discussed it with great joy. 

The next day we still had to traverse the further half of the 
valley, and even in the prosaic morning time, we constantly 
noticed fantastic shapes in the rocks on the other side. ‘There 
was a realistic statue of Judge Cockburn, a certain outline of 
Cardinal Wolsey, and, just as we turned to the left to leave the 
main valley, guarding the entrance to a small nullah on the 
opposite side, was that strangest formation of all, a high 
pinnacle of rock, left standing like a gigantic solitary stalag- 
mite, whose outline was weathered into the irresistible sug- 
gestion of a maternal figure, with one child nestled at her 
knees and another peeping over her left shoulder. In strong 
contrast to the size of these figures one slowly descried a 
monastic house and a few less important dwellings built into 
the base of the pillar in the usual gnomish fashion, from whose 
chimneys the blue smoke rose to curl up like incense obscuring 
the Madonna’s face. 

Leaving this strange valley, which, for all its weird sugges- 
tiveness, has an atmosphere of pleasant peacefulness, we turn 
to the left and then to the right again, and slowly wend our 
way up a long bare ascent to the Namika La (the Sky-high Pass) 
of 13,000 feet. On the way a ragged picturesque man, 
and a little child who was far more so, were seen leading a 
flock of small sheep and goats along the hillside, though what 
sustenance they were going to find in this dry barrenness was 
hard to see. ‘The top of the pass has a fine panoramic view, 
and, having dismounted from our panting ponies, who ascend 
the last steep bit with constant pauses and periodic breathing, 


70 Back to Lamaland 


we let them rest a few minutes, while we sit by the /Aato and 
enjoy the sea of mountain tops all around. ‘The path descends 
into the open valley of Bot Kharbu, a long smiling stretch of 
cultivation with several small villages and a few ruined forts 
and castles on the hilltops. ‘These were the scenes of fighting 
in the seventeenth century. Occasionally we note a rough 
bridge across the main stream, made just of the trunk of a 
tree or of two such logs side by side, of which one is a little 
lower, so that, if nervous, one could choose it and hold on to 
the higher. One noticeable cluster of houses, called Stagtse, 
is picturesquely grouped round a pointed rock on the other 
side of the stream. Near the rest-house, we see, on the further 
side also, that little collection of houses which gives the best 
example on all the road of how the native dwelling is fashioned 
like and merges into the surrounding rock. 

Overhanging that part of the village in which the dak 
bungalow is to be found is a high rock with ruins of a castle 
or fort, conspicuous above which, and noticed from afar, is 
the figure of a man meditating over the valley, and brooding 
over the past history of its wars. When we arrive under it, 
we see it is only a sandstone figure, carved by the storms of 
centuries just as those seen on the day before. 

The next day we leave the valley and enter a slowly 
narrowing long defile, leading to the foot of the highest pass 
we have to cross, and some six miles out of Kharbu we pass 
Henasku in a ravine on the left, already quoted as an example 
and, perhaps a better one than yesterday’s, of a series of 
transitional rock dwellings, and looking so lonely and so weird 
on its high cliff. Pausing at the foot of the Pass, where there is 
water though no shade, for a meal, we then climb up to 13,500 
feet, but just before the summit is reached, we come upon a 
nice group of Ladakis camping in that glorious scenery. We 
turn round to admire the way they have “ parked out ” their 
loads of bulging sacks into a wind shelter, against which they 
rest their own appropriate figures. Behind them is a magni- 


Back to Lamaland 71 


ficent stretch of mountains, its breadth and expanse exceeding 
those of yesterday’s pass ; the glory of light and shade are 
indescribable, and this little group of humanity in the fore- 
ground just completes the picture. To their right by a tiny 
trickle of water behind a little rock, a delightful pair have 
detached themselves from the party to engage in “ Chos 
Choches ” (doing religion). One has a wee tray on a collap- 
sible stand and a spoon, all of which can be shut up within a 
kind of teapot, its cover forming a second platter when 
reversed, and here he is busy with his libations and mumbling 
away at his prayers, though apparently only a layman, while 
the younger man assists him. Completing the ascent an 
equally wonderful view bursts on the sight, but there is no 
sign of cultivation on these bare brown or snowwhite peaks, 
and one really feels as though even at the “ back of beyond ” 
in every direction, there never would be human habitation 
again. But there just below us a yak tosses up his head, and 
gallops off, while soon our eyes light upon another picturesque 
camp arranged within a wall of sacks. One of our Tibetan 
friends, preferring a sun to a water-bath, has slipped his arms 
out of his wide sleeves and sits there bare to his waist, though 
' we ourselves find the breeze quite chilly at these heights. 
Down, down, down again, and the big peaks vanish while the 
little hills rise. Round many corners we come to a bare wild 
ravine with a dark frowning hill behind, fit framing for a 
solitary chorten, throwing into relief its whitewashed base and 
red-ringed superstructure. Now we know a village must be 
near, and up a little zigzag path we go, and around another 
big chorien, then catch our breath at the picture that lies before 
us, a village we have already described as a suitable capital 
for ‘‘ Hobgoblinland.” Nor does this impression diminish, 
rather, each time one rounds that corner it strikes the imagin- 
ation more forcibly, and seems as though it can only be some 
dreamland phantasm. Even as you come down upon the 
prosaic little rest-house on its platform below the hill, the 


72 Back to Lamaland 


chimneys of its cook-houses look up at you like unblinking 
owls. ‘To visit the monastery the path leads up to turn 
abruptly near a series of little dwelling places covering a small 
hill. Unrelieved by the usual balconies and adornments of 
village houses, they appear more like stables, but we are 
informed they are the abodes of the nuns.- The dGonpa itself 
is very picturesque and a camera might be busy at each corner, 
but the dirt and dust are terrible. ‘The Lamas who belong to 
the red sect, are degraded looking, and the whole atmosphere 
of the village is evil, as several travellers have noticed. What 
wonder that below the village we come upon that disinterred 
Sodom and Gomorrah already mentioned, perhaps more aptly 
described as a ruinous Gehenna with its twisted sulphurous 
pillars. So we pass along the high road, meeting the Indus 
at the suspension bridge just below the village of Kalatse, and 
keeping it company toSaspola. It was when riding along this 
piece of road that seven year old Helen asked, as more moun- 
tains came into view, peering over their fellows, ‘““ Mummy, how 
did the mountains make theirselves so big?’’ After a long 
uninhabited stretch of stony road we note a welcome green 
patch on the other side, where about three houses find enough 
cultivatable ground, fed from a falling stream, to support their 
inmates, and we are told that in winter they send their animals 
across the frozen river, now wide and rushing, to find what 
roots they can and to bask in the warmth on the sunny side. 
As our destination approaches, a crazy-looking cantilever 
bridge with no side rails crosses the river. ‘Though fairly 
broad, it spansa high gulf, and it is only certain local ponies 
who are used to it, whom one can dare to take over. Fortu- 
nately it is not on the high road, and we may pass on in peace 
of mind. 

The following march ascends a rong, which may be defined 
as a pass “ which goes up, but not down,” a narrow defile 
which opens out eventually on to a broad plain, whence the 
snow crests surrounding the long broad Indus valley in the 


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Back to Lamaland rhe 


neighbourhood of Leh can be seen. But there is a sudden 
descent from this plateau into the pretty and quaint little 
village of Basgo, which, with its peculiar rocks and ruins, 
chorten gates and mani walls, appeals to some people more than 
Lamayuru. In spring it is certainly a ggm in the bare hills, 
for on the verge of the plain one suddenly comes upon it as a 
mass of apricot blossom. Above the Basgo-Nyemo valley 
neither the apricot nor the apple ripen properly, and the Leh 
supplies come mostly from there or from Saspola. ‘The main 
road, which we must occasionally remind ourselves is the high 
road to Central Asia, leading through the village, passes many 
tumbledown chortens and mani walls, and, in one little recess on 
the left, one sees a fine example of a prayer-wheel made of a 
kerosene tin. On the outskirts, a row of prayer-wheels may 
be noted on a roof, waiting to be turned by the wind. 

Over a sandy four-mile plain with a long mani wall extending 
half-way, we reach Nyemo, which looked only about twenty 
minutes ride from Bazgo, and are glad to enter the shade of 
its large dagh, and new bungalow. Here we remember 
camping once and taking our meal in the open by our tents, 
when a group of traders and their servants from the serai came 
to watch this interesting performance. Wearying of their 
unabashed stare, the Doctor Sahib at length rose, and addressed 
them in their own language. Pointing solemnly to the 
members indicated, he said, “I too am a man, I have eyes, 
ears, nose and mouth.” A grin slowly spread over their faces 
as they caught the rebuke, and they stole away to bother us 
no more. 

Now we have one more rong to ascend, then we soon come 
out on to a long terraced plain with a glorious view of our own 
Leh valley, the Indus spreading out into several silver streaks 
as it winds in and out of its broad acres. Grateful after the 
narrow gorges and long defiles is this open expanse, ringed by 
range after range of peaks pointing up to some 20,000 feet 
above sea level, whose snow can never melt. ‘“‘ My very own 


7 A Back to Lamaland 


hills” says our small Helen, returning to Leh from England 
at the age of five. ‘‘ Not Daddy’s nor Mummy’s, but my 
very own Leh Mountains, I was borned there.” The 
terraced plains are very long, but at length we pass Spitug 
with its monastery-crowned hill on our right, and turning a 
corner see Leh away up in the foothills to our left. Such a 
short journey it looks in this clear, rarefied air, but it is a good 
five miles uphill before we enter the “ Sta-rgo,” horse-gate, 
of the little town we have come so far to see. Once more we 
view with delight its broad bazar, headed by the mosque, its 
row of poplars on one side, its castle high on a hill to the right 
and behind it the mountains, over which the Kardong Pass 
leads to the Karakorums and distant Yarkand. 


CHAPVER Vib 
Over Many Passes 
AVING seen the high road to Leh, let us take a 


trip off the beaten track, along a much less 

prosaic road, for it is much more thrilling never 

to know what surprises lie just round the next 
corner. ‘Towards the end of the march, however, there 
often seem to be endless “‘ next corners” before the welcome 
sight of tent or dak-bungalow greets the eyes, with its 
promise of tea and a nap, the value of which are perhaps best 
realized after a hot march. ‘Thus round such a corner may 
come into view the most ricketty of bridges sometimes made 
only of twigs and spanning a rushing river. Where the 
stream is smaller, not even this bridge is provided, and the 
only way across is to ford, which is no easy matter when the 
bed is not smooth but formed of huge boulders, so that one 
moment the pony is high up on a rock, the next plunges deep 
down between the stones. ‘Then, too the boom boom of the 
swifter torrents filling one’s ears inspires an additional fear of 
the onrush of these stones and smaller boulders which may 
catch the ponies’ legs and break them. At times the road 
_ may lead along the bottom of a valley over the most stony of 
pathways imaginable, and with the overhanging rocks so low 
that man must “stoop to conquer,” and even the ponies’ 
saddles occasionally need to be shed and loads dropped to get 
underneath. Again, having climbed up a high pass there 
bursts on the view a panorama that defies description in its 
immensity and grandeur of upheaval. Moreover in these 

75 


76 Over Many Passes 


sparsely populated regions the people are so interesting, for 
the customs and ways of the unadulterated lamaism often 
differ considerably from those of the high road. 

But let us now accompany the “ padre” and the “ doctor ”’ 
in their trek from Ladak through Zankskar to Lahoul, and 
home via the Plains, thus traversing the whole of the 
Himalayan ranges from north to south, except the most 
northern, named the Karakoram Range. Leaving Leh we 
must first travel down the high road towards Kashmir for four 
days, that is along the Indus as far as the foot of the 
Lamayuru gorge. But let us remember the real name of 
this river 1s the ‘‘ Senge Kabab,” which means the one which 
“descends from the mouth of the Lion.” The Tibetan 
names of the other rivers flowing from the region of the 
holy lake, Manosarowar, also indicate the true sources of 
their mighty waters, for does not the Sutlej or “ Langchen 
kabab ”’ descend from the mouth of the elephant, the Gogo 
is the “ Mamzhi kabab ” descending from the mouth of the 
peacock, while the Brahmaputra or “ Damchog kabab”’ 
descends from the ear of the horse. In our Western ignorance 
we often garble these Tibetan names. Thus Darjeeling 
should be called ‘‘Dorjhe Ling” the ‘‘ Country of the 
Thunderbolt,” whilst Kalimpong is our distorted version of 
‘ Kalonpug,” the cave of the prime minister. But let us get 
back to Lamayuru whence our road turns due south across 
that division of the Himalayas known as the “Ri-gyal” or 
mountain king range. Our first march takes us over a small 
pass to Wanla, and we must get used to Passes, as within a 
short period we have to cross fifteen, of which all but five are 
fairly high ones. Wanla is a pretty village and shows signs 
of having been an important one. Crowning the hill which 
dominates the village is a fine old ruin, and behind it a 
most peculiar built monastery, in many places resting on 
beams which look so insecure that they must give way on 
the slightest provocation. ‘That they still hold is doubtless 


Over Many Passes 77 


due to the fine water prayer-wheel in the village, which day 
and night turns round its prayers to benefit the community, 
while in the walls of the little shelter made to accommodate it 
four more rather large prayer-wheels are inserted to be 
worked by hand, so that the passer-by, giving them a 
meritorious twirl as he goes along, may add his contribution 
to the volume of prayer that brings favour to the village. 
Just now is the time of harvest in Wanla. Here the barley 
and wheat are cut and carried to the side of the hill to dry, 
a process which must soon be accomplished, for the heat 
from the stones is very great. In the evening a poor old 
man, blind in one eye arrives, and the cause being established 
as cataract, a temporary operating theatre is set up, 
instruments boiled and the trouble removed. Another poor 
old fellow completely blind, deaf and otherwise deformed, 
also asks for help, but alas, he is beyond the aid even of 
Western medical science, and, as he 1s very poor, the meagre 
solace of a little gift is all that can be done for him. 
There is hardly any operation so dramatic as that of cataract 
extraction, for the patient may be totally blind at one 
moment and the next receive his sight. It is all the 
more sad to have to tell some of these poor blind folk 
that it is impossible to give them back their vision, especially 
when so often that faculty might have been saved had they 
come to the doctor sooner. 

Arrangements have now to be made for the next day’s 
march, and we are told that the road is so bad that it will 
take all the Wanla horses and all the Wanla men to get us to 
Hunupata, the next village at which we halt ; nor is the 
picture overdrawn. Next morning all are busy. Breakfast 
is cooked and eaten, and wise is he who begins by shipping 
aboard plenty of food! Stores and cooking utensils are 
packed into yakdans and kiltas, the Indian-made travelling 
boxes and baskets, one of which forms half-a-pony load, and 
we are off, enjoying the sheer delight of marching in the clear 


78 Over Many Passes 


pure cool air of the early morning. Our road runs along 
the left bank of the Wanla stream for about three miles, then 
we have to cross it by such a bridge that those of us who are 
riding dare not trust our ponies to it, and must ford. Soon 
after the thrills promised by our friends in the village begin. 
The path runs along the cliff, varying from ten to two hundred 
feet above the river, which is now fairly deep and rushing. 
Often it is hardly wider than the hand can span, and, of 
course, the track always runs along the extreme edge, as roads 
in this country usually do, while over the edge is first a rapid 
decline, then a perpendicular drop straight down into the 
river. One slip off the road and the chances of recovery 
are practically nil, while the preliminary slither down the 
slope would just allow time to realize the pleasant drop 
which would occur when the perpendicular part was reached. 
Walking along this so-called bridle path, I remembered 
coming along the same road some years before in early 
summer, and how at one place the path, to add to its terrors, 
was actually covered with sloping ice, and I admit having 
shirked it by climbing up along the hill above. After a 
walk of two-and-a-half hours we reached the pretty little 
village, Panjila, but, before arriving could not help noting 
the only sign of vegetation on that bare hillside, one lonely 
pine tree of considerable age. Evidently it had found a 
little spring to sustain its life. So quaintly does the smallest 
rill or source of water permit the growth of one or two trees 
in such a dry stony land. No wonder that in its fantastic 
isolation the shugpa or pencil cedar of Ladak, is regarded as 
a holy tree and in it dwells a Lha or good spirit. Often an 
altar piled high with the horns of wild sheep or goats is 
built around the stem of such a tree, and of certain shugpa it 
is said that to break off a twig or branch will cause the death 
of the offender within a year. ‘Thus, among the oldest 
trees in the land, where wood is in such demand for fuel, 
is the Shugpa, owing its existence to the protection of its gods. 


Over Many Passes 79 


But the road does not mend, rather it grows worse ; never- 
theless he who braves it is fully repaid, for it leads to one 
of the most wonderful gorges in the world. Soon after 
leaving Panjila, we cross quite a short bridge, two hundred 
feet below which roars the river, running between high perpen- 
dicular cliffs. A little further down, it has hollowed out of some 
conglomerate rock a magnificent tunnel through which the 
waters thunder. The road has now become difficult enough, 
consisting of large slabs of slaty rocks which have descended 
irregularly from the cliffs, which rise up perpendicularly for 
some thousand feet at the side. How one would enjoy 
watching, from a safe distance, the descent of one of these 
large rocks. The Padre tells of how he was once belated on 
such a road, and suddenly the cliff above him and his servant 
began falling down. His Ladaki companion cried out, 
“Sahib, our end has come,” but they pressed themselves 
tightly up against a rock, trusting their horses to do 
the same, and thus escaped. Now we come to a bridge, 
and what a bridge! Four poplar trees have been thrown 
across the stream, but wood has apparently been scarce, 
for on top of these large slabs of stone are placed, which 
bob up and down as the pony crosses over them. However, 
the drop is not more than eighty feet even if we should go 
over. Up and down the hillsides we go to avoid precipitous 
cliffs; then the brook must be forded, and, asthe pony plunges 
up and down, one wonders how wet the tiffin bread in the 
saddle-bag is getting. Now we wander along the bed of the 
stream itself, not too full of water this time of the year, yet 
not without difficulties, for in three or four places the adjacent 
rocks overhang it, while in one place they are actually so low 
that the ponies can only pass underneath with their saddles 
removed. But look around at the view. Here by your side 
is a clear bubbling stream which can yet make a very respect- 
able roar as it passes through its self-excavated tunnels. At 
its side grow rose bushes and tamarisks in profusion, while 


80 Over Many Passes 


the wild red currants, now ripe, are wonderfully sweet to the 
taste. ‘Then look up to right and left, and see the great 
slabs of cliffs, rising absolutely straight up from the river 
for over 1,000 feet; or, where they lean at all, the slope is 
inwards. Behind them are further tiers. Beyond, more cliffs, 
rising up to a similar height, look just like huge stalagmites, 
the formation of cliff and stalagmite together often suggesting 
one of nature’s wonderful cathedrals with its many spires. 
The Ladaki would people them with his /has (spirits), which 
he certainly believes inhabit the stalagmites. 

At last we turn a corner and our hair might turn grey too, 
for the natural road stops abruptly at one of these perpen- 
dicular rocks, on to which human hands have built a kind 
of rough scaffolding. On every little projection from this 
rock stones have been merely laid to the desired level, and not 
even cemented with mud. Jutting out from the rock are 
beams ; how they have been fixed in it is impossible to say, 
and resting on these more beams parallel with the cliff, and 
finally, to give a firm footing, slabs of rock. Why the whole 
crazy structure does not topple down is past comprehension. 
The doctor, wishing to be whole in order to render first-aid 
to the Padre should calamity over-take him, crosses over 
first, to feel peculiar sensations up and down his spine as he 
watches his colleague follow after him. Even the horses 
seem to realize their precarious position, and press close up 
to the cliff. Having safely traversed this piece of road, we 
are not surprised to see a chorten and a mani wall, though 
still miles away from human habitation, for even the Ladaki 
must feel he needs a special safeguard for such a perilous 
passage. 


From now our road descends until we reach Hanupata, — 
where, although the onset of rain threatens to damp our’ 


welcome, the villagers make up for it in the heartiness of 
their greeting. The mGopa or headman begs us to come and 
rest in a “very nice room”’ of his house until our luggage 


” 
Lak 


Over Many Passes SI 


arrives, and leads us thither up crooked rocky lanes, through 
dark alleys, up ricketty ladders, and under low portals, which 
give rude shocks to our heads or topees. ‘This “ very nice 
room”’ with its mud walls is about 1§ ft. by 18 ft. in size, while 
its low dirty roof just above our heads, has been stained a 
beautiful shining mohagany by years of smoke, a process 
being continued by a fire at the further end, whose acrid 
fumes, most painful to the eyes, fill the room. To the left 
a nice large verandah admits fresh air, and appears to be the 
only clean spot in the room, not excepting our travel-stained 
selves. While the water for our tea is being boiled, the family 
produce a black rug, woven from sheeps’ hair, and place it 
on the floor, so that we may both sit and “lay our table ”’ 
upon it. The family, vastly entertained and entertaining, 
sit around, consisting of father, son, son-in-law, and one or 
two ladies whose relationship is not precisely ascertained. 
We tell them of the road already traversed; they tell us of 
joys to come. The old grandfather, or Meme, is specially 
interesting as he sits on the verandah, wearing a peculiar 
type of hat of a fashion only retained by a few of the oldest 
inhabitants, though still part of the ceremonial dress at 
weddings. Like a very elongated tea-cosy, it is doubled 
over to one side in the middle, has a turned-up brim, and was 
introduced by King Senge Namgyal. The old man is 
smoking his pipe with such enjoyment, that we are con- 
strained to inquire as to the source of his tobacco, for such 
relish can hardly be credited to the old metal pipe. He 
replies that he has gathered the fragrant leaf from the hill- 
side. ‘The Padre having a fellow-feeling with this smoker 
gives the old man some of his own “‘ Country Life ” tobacco 
to sample. He fills his bowl, and his face lights up as he 
puffs away at the wonderful new concoction, and assumes a 
beatific contentment. ‘Taking out his pipe, he surveys it 
with a smile, for who could have believed even that old 


friend could have produced such a delightful inhalation. 
F 


8 2 Over Many Passes 
Asked how he was enjoying it, he replied that if he smoked 


much more he would become intoxicated. 

Having refreshed ourselves with tea, and the rain having 
ceased, we go to look for a good camping spot, and fix on a 
field already harvested. Soon our luggage arrives, and the 
ponymen tell us that for four miles they had to unload their 
ponies and carry the loads themselves. Fancy carrying a 
heavy tent over a bad road for four miles! ‘Two of the 
ponies had fallen down the steep hillside with their loads 
tightly bound on their backs; but, fortunately for them, these 
were bedding and tents, so they did not hurt themselves 
seriously, and, fortunately for us, they just stopped short of 
the water, so we had dry beds that night. ‘This part of the 
road has been described somewhat in detail, and, although 
all is perfectly true, yet it is not so bad in the actual going as 
it sounds, for one is much too occupied with the next step 
to worry about potential accidents, and it is only in prospect 
or retrospect that the perils of the road appal. 

Early next morning we are off again, and soon come to the 
inevitable pass. Here the many marmots provide interest 
by announcing the coming of a stranger with a shrill police- 
man-like whistle, as they sit at the doors of their burrows. 
They are remarkably tame, for the Doctor stalked one 
and actually touched him with his stick as he disappeared 
down his hole, only to reappear a few minutes later. He 
was then about to reach his hand out to stroke him, but was 
warned by his Ladaki zhabzhi (foot-helper) that they bite 
hard. When travelling in another direction some weeks 
before this, my companion’s dog noticed a marmot running 
hard for his hole. ‘‘ Bunty” managed to head him off and 
bowl him over, biting him hard in the abdomen, but nowhere 
else, for friend marmot was a sportsman. He sat up on his 
hind legs held up his fists in the approved boxer fashion, 
and kept “ Bunty” at bay. We were able to walk right 
up to the combatants, when, seeing the marmot was badly 


Over Many Passes 83 


injured, he was given the coup de grdce with the business 
end of a riding-crop. 

Horses and men being rather tired, we decided to give 
them a rest day, which we began by extracting two cataracts 
and excising a large tumour, following which medicines were 
dispensed. ‘The sahibs being thus engaged, the servants 
took the opportunity of having a baking day, so as to substitute 
bread for the chupattis with which they had now provided us 
for some days. Baking in this part of the world is an interest- 
ing process. First the dough is made with leaven, placed 
in a covered tin, and put into the sun to ferment, but if there 
is no sunshine, it 1s kept warm by covering it with all the 
bedding of the servants, and wise is the sahib who does not 
scrutinize this covering too closely, remembering rather that 
what the eye does not see, the heart does not grieve over. 
While the dough 1s rising, the oven must be prepared. The 
walls of this are made of large dry plaques of cow manure, 
and the roof of a big slab of the same material. ‘The latter 
interested us, and we inquired how it was procured. We 
were told that throughout the whole winter the stables are 
not cleared out, but the continual stamping of animals and 
men makes quite a hard floor of manure, which is cut out in 
large chunks in the spring. But if we wait too long for 
these explanations, our bread will be sour. ‘The oven itself 
is now set on fire, and by the time the dough is ready the 
whole thing is glowing splendidly. The dough in its covered 
tin is placed inside, and a door of glowing dung closes the 
oven. ‘The resulting bread is all one can wish! Having 
cooked the bread, the fire still functions, for on it the servants’ 
Sunday dinner is cooked. A sheep has been killed for the 
sahibs, and the servants receive the head as their perquisite. 
The head, with hair, eyes, brain and everything intact, is 
placed in the fire of manure, the hair burns off, and a meal, 
fit for a Ladaki king at any rate, emerges. 

On again next day over the “ Sengela” or “ lion pass.” 

F 2 


8 4 Over Many Passes 


A long gradual ascent leads to it, covered with wonderful 
flowers, and as the doctor climbs up, he remembers an 
experience he had there some years before. His colleague’s 
mare was taken ill when nearing the top, and was unable to 
proceed unaided. It was a matter of either deserting her or 
dragging her over, and as the last half mile of the pass was 
under deep snow, the latter proved to be an even harder task 
than anticipated. Holding with one hand to the tail of his 
Zankskar pony, and with the other pulling the mane of the 
sick mare, the former animal dragged both of them over a 
16,600 feet pass through deep snow. 

This pass brought us to Yulchung, from which we made a 
detour to Lingshed, but we will not linger there now, as we 
shall be referring to it elsewhere. Beyond it, the road runs 
along the side of the hills on the right bank of the river, whose 
left one would seem to have been shaped out by some Goliath 
into gigantic stalls to stable his horses. Next comes a steep 
drop down to the river, where a truly Ladaki bridge awaits 
us. No doubt some belated traveller, needing wood to 
provide himself with the consolation of his butter-tea, has 
helped himself to some of the flooring of the bridge. The 
next arrival has not been long troubled by this lack of boarding, 
for there are plenty of large slabs and stones about to place 
on the various gaps. As our pony stepped on to one of 
these, it tipped up, anda hundred and fifty feet below roared 
the Charab river. Such a place must abound with evil 
spirits, but nature has kindly provided a large rock, shaped 
like a sugar loaf, as a foundation for the propitiatory altar. 
On one side of it some human hands have managed to make 
another large stone rest, supporting others up to a level 
with the top of the sugar loaf, and across this peculiar base 
have balanced a huge flat slab of rock, piled high with the horns 
of wild sheep and goats. Facing this strange structure a 
throne of stone has been erected for the officiating Skushog 
or lama, when religious rites are performed here. 


Over Many Passes 85 


From this point we slowly mounted for two days before 
reaching the “ La ngo”’ or head of the pass. On the way a 
large avalanche had blocked the whole road, through which 
the river had eaten a channel. Here a council of war had 
to be held to decide whether to surmount the obstruction or 
get under it. The former involved a bad high jump for the 
ponies, the latter the enlarging of the entrance with a wood 
chopper. We decided that to go under would be the easier 
solution, as it generally is. Inside we found ourselves in a 
tunnel, about a hundred feet long, roofed by the frozen snow 
of the avalanche, floored by the river, and walled in by two 
mountains, along whose bases we crept. One of the ponies 
stepped on to a slippery rock, and fell into the river, knocking 
the man who was leading him over on to one side, and we all 
breathed a sigh of relief on finding neither man nor beast 
had broken a bone. At the outlet of the tunnel, a high wall 
of snow still remained, cutting us off from the road, out of 
which a slice had to be hacked with the chopper to allow 
access to the latter. 

On the third day we reached Zangla, the first village in the 
province of Zankskar. 


CHAPTER VIII 
Into Zankskar 


ANGLA is the capital of a small province of 
Zankskar, consisting of only seven villages, which 
were presented to a former King in reward for aid 
rendered to Zorowar, the Dogra general, on his 

‘way through to the conquest of Ladak. 

We were heartily welcomed by the King, who is also a 
Skushog, and who allowed us to put up our tents in his private 
garden. ‘That evening, when requiring a place in which to 
show our lantern slides, a fine large room in the castle was put 
at our disposal ; the majority of the villagers came to the 
entertainment, and his Majesty also honoured the performance, 
sitting on a chair, of which he possessed two, placed among 
his subjects, who squatted on the floor around. 

Next morning quite a concourse of men had gathered to 
carry our luggage. Some of our loads were naturally lighter 
than others, but in Zangla everything is done in an orderly 
fashion. A young fellow, perhaps the only layman of the 
village who can read, has a small bundle of sticks, on one of 
which each male villager has his name written. ‘The ones 
representing those whose turn it is to carry to-day are picked 
out and placed at haphazard on the various bundles. Each 
man finds his own name-stick, and without demur shoulders 
the load which the god of fortune has sent him. 

In the province of Bashahr things are not quite so nicely 
arranged, for when it comes to the casting of lots, each man 
fetches a stick for himself, but if he happens later to find that 
86 





Into Zankskar 87 


stick on a heavy load, he calls upon ‘‘dGonmchog Sum” (the 
three Gods) to witness that this is not the stick of his choice; 
but his neighbour’s. Spitti’s method is far superior, for 
there the dice settles the matter. 

Another day’s journey brings us to the capital of the 
province, but before reaching this we have another type of 
bridge to cross, this time made of rope. From this place 
onwards we saw a good many of these, so it may be well to 
describe one. A prominent rock from which to sling the 
ropes, is selected on either side of the river. ‘These ropes are 
made of the twigs of birch or poplar, plaited together. Four 
such ropes tied together constitute the actual pathway, just 
broad enough to accommodate a boot. On either side is a 
rail of the same material, connected by similar strands to the 
footway, and at each end the latter and the rails are wound 
and tied round beams, kept in position by large pieces of rock. 
Often, of course, pieces of this bridge completely disappear, 
but it is not till someone falls through and ends his present 
incarnation, that the Ladaki considers there is an indica- 
tion for repairs to be undertaken. ‘To cross this bridge we 
first mount the cliff over which its end is swung, then lean 
well forward to catch hold of one rail with each hand, and place 
the foot gingerly on the footway. It is impossible to grasp 
the whole handrail, for it is far too thick, and so rough that it 
may tear the hands. The bridge sags in the centre, so the 
first half descends at rather a steep angle, which does not make 
matters easier, for after about ten paces one cannot help 
catching sight of the swirling river some hundred feet below. 
Towards the middle the bridge begins to sway, as a slight 
wind is blowing, but there can be no turning back now; more- 
over the worst half is over, for from the centre the ascent to 
the further side begins. Looking back, we find that even 
our Ladaki cook has lost his nerve and will not venture, ‘The 
prospect is bad,—no cook, nodinner. But the problem 1s soon 
solved, for a local man hoists him up and soon takes him over 


88 Into Zankskar 


pick-a-pack. To the men of these parts their bridges offer 
no thrills ; they often carry cattle over on their backs, first 
taking the precaution of tying their legs. Some time after 
we had reached camp, our other two servants came in and told 
us of their experiences at that bridge. ‘“‘ Are you afraid?” 
said one. ‘“‘ No, not a bit,” replied his comrade, while in 
sheer fright the tears chased one another down his cheeks. 
However, one soon gets quite blasé about these bridges, and 
I crossed my fourth with a light heart. But how do 
the ponies fare? They have to be relieved of their loads, 
which men carry over the bridge and they themselves must 
swim the torrent. Our own Mongolian pony was shown a 
horse on the further side, hoping that he would think it had 
arrived safely and would follow its good example, but he had 
to be driven in several times with much shouting and raising 
of arms before he would venture across, and the sturdy animal 
was quite out of breath on arriving at the other bank. 

At Padum a day’s rest was decreed, not only from marching, 
but also to extract fourteen cataracts, which were awaiting 
operation. ‘The next day on again, until finally we reached 
the Shingkung La, the Pass which divides Zankskar from 
Lahoul, and which took us four days to cross. Going to the 
foot of the Pass on the first day, we noticed some peculiar 
huts on the opposite side of the river which proved to be 
dwellings, built of yaks’ dung. During the summer, when 
the yaks are allowed to graze the hillsides, their shepherds 
first build low walls of stone, then bring the plaques of dung, 
which they collect each day, to build a slanting roof, of which 
each superimposed layer overlaps slightly inwards. When 
winter comes, the yaks are driven back into the village, and 
the collections of dung taken home for the winter fuel. 

Having reached the top of the Pass, a most wonderful view 
is unfolded. To right and left rise glorious peaks covered 
with glittering snowfields or glaciers, while our path itself 
lies across an avalanche, though it is difficult to realize this, 





I. A LADAKT FROM A SIDE VALLEY. 
One of the few old men who still wear regularly a turnover hat introduced by a former king. 


2. A BREEZY DWELLING. 
A Tibetan nomad looking through the aperture at the top of his quaint tent, which serves as 


chimney, ventilator and observatory. 
3 & 4. HeEaD TEACHER OF THE MONASTERY OF SANKAR, 


He is the secular instructor of the Baby Skushog. He is wearing ceremonial hats used on 
different occasions. 


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Into Zankskar 89 


as it is covered with a thick layer of stones and rocks. To 
the right the river torrent has cut a deep gully, walled-in by 
tall, perpendicular snow-banks. But we have still far to go, 
and must not linger. At the bottom of the pass a very 
welcome sight reaches us, for there a splendidly-built bridge 
spans the river, and from its further side winds a well-made 
road. After scrambling and slipping over the most appalling 
tracks for days, what a joy it is to plant one’s foot fair and 
square on a well-metalled road. It is hardly necessary to 
state that we have now passed into the territory of the Govern- 
ment of India. About four miles further along, this road 
brings us to some very high cliffs to the right, whilst on the 
left and below us is a tremendous jumble of huge boulders 
and rocks. We were informed that it was the site of a once 
flourishing village, but one day part of the cliff crumbled 
away, burying all the dwellings and their inhabitants. Great 
treasures might be found on digging here, but an ogre, who 
has actually been seen by several people, guards them at 
nights, and no-one would ever be so foolhardy as to pass 
that way. 

Soon after this we struck the Bhaga river, which comes from 
the Baralatcha, and a little further on joins the Chandra, also 
descending from the same pass, to form the Chenab, and thus, 
after marching for nearly a month, we accomplished the first 
half of our journey, and reached Kyelang in Lahoul. Here 
we had intended to stay for eight days, but, alas, on the 
seventh snow began to fall, and continued to do so without 
interruption for three days. Such a heavy fall so early in the 
year was unprecedented, and the results were most unfor- 
tunate. All the leaves being still on the trees, the snow they 
lodged proved too heavy a weight, and not only were large 
branches broken off, but numbers of big strong trees were 
uprooted. Most of the harvest was still standing, and it was 
a sad sight to see wheat, barley and rye laid flat on the ground, 
We ourselves were entirely cut off from the outer world, to 


gO Into Zankskar 
the north by the Baralatcha, and to the south by the Rohtang 


Pass, the latter being the one over which the mails from India 
come in summer. After waiting patiently for a week, we 
thought we would try to open the Baralatcha, and get home 
to Ladak as originally planned via the Rupchu plateau. We 
reached the end of the first stage, only to find the snow was 
so deep that it was impossible to get ponies, and further 
progress was hopeless. As for the road itself, what a differ- 
ence had occurred. Only a fortnight before it had been 
delightful travelling over it, but now large stretches had been 
completely carried away. We could hardly have believed it, 
had we not seen it with our own eyes. This happens every 
year, and every spring the Government of India repairs it. 

Another week went by, and we thought we could try again, 
taking coolies right through. These were collected by order 
of the local Rajah, but they practically refused to go, and it 
began to look as if this road might have finally closed for the 
winter. Eventually we had to decide to cross the Rohtang 
Pass, march right through Kulu to the railhead at Pathancote, 
travel thence by rail to Amritzar and Rawalpindi, then along 
the motor road to Srinagar, and up to Leh along the usual 
sixteen marches. 

This was going to be an expensive détour, so all possible 
kit was left at Kyelang till the next summer, including our 
Mongolian pony and two servants. On the third day we 
crossed over the Rohtang from Lahoul into Kulu, and, 
although the snow was still deep, by accomplishing the ascent 
in the early morning, it was hard underfoot and going was 
easy. The damage done on this pass was tragic. One 
avalanche carried away six hundred sheep and two shepherds, 
and a second accounted for four hundred sheep. Some weeks 
afterwards the sequel was published. One of the shepherds 
sheltered under a rock and was buried for fourteen days, but 
he happened to have some of the local butter or ‘“‘ ghee” with 
him, with which he kept himself alive, and finally managed to 


Into Zankskar QI 


crawl out. A few days under normal conditions left him 
apparently none the worse for his terrible experiences. ‘The 
Baralatcha also opened before winter, but of forty-two horses 
in a caravan travelling to Kyelang from Leh and caught on 
the Rupchu plateau at the time of the storm, only twenty-four 
reached their destination. Our further travels through Kulu 
and Mandi State are in better known regions, and need no 
description here, save that one cannot refrain from referring 
to the country there as one of the most beautiful handiworks 
of our Creator. 


GHAR Be don 
With Brogpa & Khampa 


E, have spent a good deal of time over our trip 
to Lahoul, where we met with some interesting 
folk, and now we must visit other parts of the 
country where we shall meet with the Dards 

and the Khampas. 

Is there anywhere in the world a stranger set of men, than 
those who call themselves “* Drogpas,”’ although they write 
this, if they can spell at all, “‘ Brogpa’’ ? Soon after we had 
first arrived in Ladak, a deputation from these people waited 
upon us requesting us to visit their villages to vaccinate old 
and young. So one fine day we set off along the usual roads, 
of which some were good and some were bad. While riding 
along one of the latter kind, we had an uncomfortable experi- 
ence, for one of the ponies slipped and fell, but instead of 
throwing his rider over a very nasty precipice sheer down to 
a rushing river, he dropped him on the inner side next the 
cliff, and it was comforting to be told that the Ladaki pony 
always acts in this considerate manner, more to save his own 
skin, one has to confess, than that of his rider, for he has no 
desire to go over the precipice either. Apart from this we 
can recount no thrilling incidents, though we derived consider- 
able amusement from our nightly halting places. Having 
determined to travel lightly, we took neither tents nor camp-beds, 
but for the former trusted to the hospitality of the villagers, 
and for the latter we carried large empty sacks, to fill which 
we borrowed straw at each village, returning it on our 
92 





With Brogpa & Khampa 93 


departure. These mattresses placed on the ground, with our 
own bedding on top, provided comfortable and warm beds for 
the cold nights of early spring. And what pictures the words 
early spring conjure up in this part of the world. ‘The snow 
is still low on the great mountains all around, but the mid-day 
sun is already hot, and the sky is an azure blue, flecked with 
white fleecy clouds. 

Riding along the bare hillsides with the rivers hardly yet 
beginning to rise, their sources still icebound, round some 
corner suddenly comes into view a little gem of a village. 
The leaves are not yet in bud, but the apricot trees are in 
blossom, a veritable pink and white fairyland. At the 
approach is generally a picturesque chorten-topped gateway, 
often flanked with gay blossoming trees, and all about the 
village the little newly-melted rills with early green peeping 
out from the banks add their joyousness to the whole scene, 
set in a background of blue sky and snow-covered hill with 
distant white peaks peeping over. Sometimes we spent the 
night on a roof, partially covered or walled-round in places, 
sometimes a room was given us, and once even the portico of 
the village temple, where all night long a gay goddess painted 
on the wall never ceased to pluck at her stringed instrument 
as we slept at her feet, while at dusk our own feet were stepped 
over by a young attendant who went in to trim the temple 
lamps. 

After a week of trekking we turned up a side valley which 
leads to one of the villages, whose inhabitants are exculsively 
Brogpas; but one also finds some of these people living 
scattered about in the ordinary hamlets of Ladak. On the 
road from Srinagar to Leh, Brogpas are met with in Dras. 
Here they are all Mohammedan, whilst in the village of Hanu 
the predominating religion is Buddhist. ‘They are said to 
have originated from Gilgit, where they no doubt played the 
national game of polo and later introduced it to Ladak, in 
which a good many villages now have their own polo grounds, 


94 With Brogpa & Khampa 


They must have been quite a brave people at one time and 
they still love to recount the deeds done by their forbears ; in 
fact Dr. Francke says there are certain times when they like 
to forget that they are Ladakis, only remembering their 
Dardish descent. At such times they tell how siege was laid 
to one of their castles, food ran out, and it became a question 
of surrendering to the enemy or dying. Like brave men they 
decided on the latter. ‘They all gathered in the large hall, 
and the oldest man was given the privilege of pushing away 
the stone on which stood the main pillar which supported the 
roof. ‘Thus these courageous men passed into the Walhalla 
of the Dards. Or they téll how a Ladaki king wished to 
make his Dardish subjects do their share of forced labour, to 
which they objected. ‘They therefore chose one of their old 
men to inform the king, that they never would be slaves, not 
even ofa king. The old man received the reply that he him- 
self would be the first who would be forced to work, but as 
he absolutely refused, they immured him. However his 
fellow countrymen were equally obstinate; so no forced labour 
could be extracted from any of them. 

Now we meet our first representative of this race, who has 
come to welcome us from the village of Hanu. How quaint his 
greeting is! He takes off his hat and twirls it round one of 
his fingers, reminding us rather of an English hip-hip-hurrah. 
Of course his hat differs from any hat worn by anybody else 
in Ladak, where the hat is of great diagnostic value, It is 
not unlike the hat of the Ladaki, but the part which is turned 
up is not lined with lambskin, and is continuous all the way 
round. ‘Those worn by the ladies are different again, the 
upper half being turned over somewhat like a billycock hat ; 
the side turned over and uppermost is usually a veritable 
needle-case with rows of needles stuck into it. We asked 
them why they carried all these in their hats, to which they 
replied that each needle had been given by and represented a 
friend. ‘The popular Brogpa woman should therefore not 


With Brogpa & Khampa Q5 


be difficult to recognize, that is if those who are less so are 
scrupulously honest | Although they now speak a dialect of 
Tibetan they must at one time have had a language of their 
own of which one sometimes strikes peculiar remnants. At 
Kalatse, for instance, the branches of the pencil cedar are 
freshly put on one of their /hatos at the New Year, accompanied 
by the mumbling of phrases which they do not understand 
themselves, but which are usually remains of their own Dardish 
language. 

Nothing, however, can be more strange than their religious 
arrangements. As has already been mentioned, the Brogpa 
of Hanu and also of the village of Da, which is quite near-by, 
is a Buddhist, but often in a Buddhist family one member 
must of necessity be a Mohammedan. Of a similar, but 
converse arrangement, a most striking example is told. We 
passed through the village of Bot Kharbu on our way up to 
Leh. Here there lives a family of Mohammedan Brogpas, 
but one member of this family must always be a Buddhist 
priest of the neighbouring monastery of Lamayuru. Now 
the Mohammedan is only allowed to eat the meat of an animal 
that has been Aal/alled, that is to say has had its throat cut, 
whilst the butcher says ‘‘ Bismillah—it is the will of God,” 
whereas the Buddhist eats meat killed in any way, so long as 
he himself has not taken the life of the animal. This family 
avoids such complications by the simple expedient of cooking 
all the meat in one pot, irrespective of how the animal has been 
killed, then inserts a bit of stick into the cooking pot, which 
is said to separate off hallalled meat from unhallalled, and all 
the Mohammedan has to be careful about is that he shall not 
take meat from the wrong side of the stick. Another method 
they have of keeping on good terms with the spirit powers of 
both religions is to make members of successive generations 
of the same family belong to the religion of Mahomet and the 
lamas in turn. Thus the Brogpa supplies us with another 
version of the Vicar of Bray story. Some authorities account 


96 With Brogpa & Khampa 


for this extraordinary arrangement by the fact that originally 
the Dards were Mohammedans, and presumably have not been 
able entirely to throw off this allegiance. It is stated that in 
one of their villages, they actually found a burial ground; 
sure proof to them of a Mohammedan ancestry, for the 
Buddhist burns his dead, whilst it is the Mohammedan that 
inters. This may be a satisfactory explanation of their 
religious ideas, but from whence have they derived all their 
taboos? ‘Thus the Brogpa must not raise fowl, nor may he 
eat their eggs. ‘The cow may be employed for the ploughing 
of his fields, but the gods would most certainly be displeased 
were he to drink their milk, or even use the butter which is 
made from the same. In other villages the eating of fish 1s 
taboo, and by the look and smell of them washing surely must 
be also. In fact they avow that it is “ Krims med” 
not the custom. For some time it almost seemed to us as if 
vaccination was also on their list of prohibitions, for, although 
they had actually begged us to come for this very purpose, it 
took the three of us quite a long time cajoling, threatening, 
entreating and advising them, before they would undergo 
this fearful operation. At last one faced it, soon to be followed 
by the others, so that eventually we had quite a busy morning 
vaccinating. A week later this must have been a sore village, 
where most of the people wished vaccination had been taboo, 
but by then we were well away with the knowledge that, should 
smallpox attack Hanu, it would find the defences fairly strong. 

Now let us pay a visit to the Khampas, although it wants a 
George Borrow to describe these gipsies of Western ‘Tibet. 
Kham, from whence they come, is a province of Tibet, but 
when we see the numbers of them who wander over the Indian 
parts of the Himalayas, we begin to wonder whether any of 
them are left “at home.” Evidently the Khampa finds it 
more lucrative to wander like our own gipsies than to stay on 
his native soil. As the bazar in Leh provides most of the 
things needed by the people who inhabit the upper valley of 


With Brogpa & Khampa 97 


the Indus, we do not meet the Khampa much in Ladak, but 
as soon as we get into Zankskar, he is ubiquitous. Does the 
lady of those regions need cloth with which to make her shirt, 
or needle and thread with which to sew it, the Khampa will 
supply them. Should the bridegroom need a nice button 
for his coat, he has only to apply to the same source. One of 
our lady missionaries ran out of needles for her sewing 
machine, which, moreover, was of a German make, but why 
worry with Khampas accessible, for, after having supplied the 
said needles, no doubt the Gipsy said in the approved ‘Tibetan 
fashion—*‘ And the next, please.” But not only does he sell 
things, he also buys and 1s especially keen on Zankskari and 
Spitti ponies. All likely four-year-old ponies are very welcome 
to him, for whilst he buys them for about Rs 60, he sells them 
at three or four times that amount down-country. When it 
comes to horse-dealing he has nothing to learn from his 
English confrere. We ourselves were anxious to buy a 
Zankskari pony, but had not succeeded in picking up what 
we wanted. But one day we struck a Khampa’s camp, and 
thought we would try to get one from them. There at the 
foot of the hills, on the way down from a high pass, stood five 
tents in a semi-circle. | 

The Khampa’s tent is quite distinctive. Two ordinary 
poles which fork above, taken, no doubt, from the poplars 
which grow in the country, are used as uprights, and across 
the top of these another is laid over which is stretched a plain 
piece of canvas, fastened by ropes to wooden pegs or stones. 
At the bottom of this many hiatuses are left, which are con- 
veniently filled up with the bales containing their merchandise. 
At the top of the uprights a flag is stuck; this, however, is not 
placed there to signify the presence of royalty or its represen- 
tative, but to keep out the evil spirits or to welcome the good. 
Behind their camp on the hills, their many ponies are seen 
cropping the grass, and, incidentally giving the order to the 


camp to move on when all this has been eaten. As we ride 
G 


98 With Brogpa & Khampa 
up, the chief gipsy appears. He is a short, stout, healthy- 


looking young fellow, and his good-natured smile of greeting 
seems to us to presage a successful deal. He wears long 
trousers of homespun, and a short jacket of the same material. 
A Ladaki hat is placed jauntily upon his head, and his rather 
large earrings make him resemble his Spanish brother still 
more. He is followed by several others of the same ilk. His 
spouse, too, makes her appearance, and a nice picture she is. 
Her happy, jolly, round, fat face shines from the amount of 
butter with which she has anointed it, and is surmounted by a 
half-circle of red material with large stones of turquoise 
matrix inserted. Her well-covered body testifies to good 
living and plenty of fresh air. ‘There is nothing of the 
Zenana lady about this dame. ‘Two or three children play 
happily around her, but their dress is so scanty that one’s 
description may be still more so. We address them with our 
Ladaki “zhu,” and make a few further pleasant remarks. 
Although our dialect is quite different from theirs, they under- 
stand not only ours, but that of most of the people among 
whom they live and trade. ‘“‘ Have you a pony to sell?” we 
ask, and are told that they have such marvellous ones for this 
very purpose, that they defy description, and as for their 
amble, well, riding them is like sitting in a chair. I am not 
sure that they did not say raei/ instead of chair, for anything 
that has wheels is designated by this Ladaki pronunciation of 
our English word “ rail,” even though it be only the mission- 
ary’s perambulator. ‘‘ What sort of an amble has this pony 
of yours?” we next inquire. ‘“‘A ’Stongyor of course” 
comes the rejoinder. Now this needs some explanation. In 
countries like Ladak, where one has such long treks and few 
pieces of road that can be trotted on, the most comfortable 
and least tiring pace a pony can possess is the amble, with the 
result that if a pony does not have one naturally, he must try 
to acquire it by having the two legs on the same side tied 
together. ‘The natural amble is called stongyor, which means 


With Brogpa & Khampa 99 


‘“‘empty amble,” for the pony uses it even when he is not 
ridden, whilst the /abyor or “learnt amble”’ can only be 
obtained when a rider on his back holds the reins fairly firmly, 
and unfortunately an animal, like his human rider, forgets his 
lesson in less time than it takes to learn it. A /abyor therefore 
minimizes the value of a pony. ‘To come back to our gipsy, 
he soon sends one or two of his servants for one of the said 
wonderful animals, which seems as good as its description. 
But we, too, know something about ponies, and, therefore, 
request the rider to dismount and drive the pony along empty, 
with the result that the amble disappears, for it is only a 
labyor. We then inquire the price of the beast, and are told 
that as a favour we shall have him for Rsz60, but as our 
opinion on this score does not harmonize with his either, 
no deal results. ‘This does not trouble our friend much, 
for he knows that by taking the pony down country he will 
get an even higher sum, and no inhabitant of the Himalayas 
ever argues that “‘ time is money,” or that a quick turnover 
of cash is a good business proposition. 

This roving tribe, originating from Tibet, subscribes to 
the Buddhist creed. Like our own gipsies they are properly 
organized, having their own lawful king, and under him 
Tehsildars (magistrate), headmen and other officials necessary 
to keep the community in order, and although they are to be 
met with here, there and everywhere, they seem to be under 
quite good control. 


CHAPTER X 
‘“*Curiouser €9 Curiouser ” 


ET another trek awaits us, for we have not yet 
seen the Changpa, the nomad who wanders over 
the high plateaus of Western Tibet, and the 
Botpa who is the real inhabitant of the Closed 

Land. A dispute about the actual boundary between 
Ladak and Tibet must be settled on the border itself 
whither the British Joint Commissioner, Major Robson, 
who holds a watching brief for the Government of India, 
the Wazir Sahib, who represents his Highness, the 
Maharajah of Kashmir, and the Doctor Sahib, who 
accompanies the former, must travel to meet a gentleman 
who is styled the “ Gaspon,” and who acts on behalf of His 
Holiness, the Dalai Lama. 

The cause of the dispute was a Ladaki who had settled 
down in Tibet proper, where he had taken unto himself a 
lady of the country as wife, and had grown rich. Asa result 
he became liable for the heavy Tibetan taxation, and, wishing 
to escape this, he returned to Ladak and settled down on his 
own side of the border. But our Tibetan friends were not 
to be done out of their taxes quite so easily, for they calmly 
entered Ladak, seized their man, and took him back again. 
His brother then appealed to the Kashmir authorities and 
the Government of India on his behalf, and these naturally 
objected to such high-handed procedure. ‘Tibet tried to 
contest the matter by saying that the place from which they 


had removed the Ladaki was in Tibetan territory, but from 
I0O0 


“© Curiouser & Curiouser ”’ LOI 


the discussions which were subsequently held at this con- 
ference, there seemed to be absolutely no doubt that they 
had no grounds at all for their contentions. 

So off we go one beautiful summer evening from Leh to 
accomplish our first stage, which happens to be quite an easy 
one. ‘There is a beauty about the summer evenings and the 
sunsets, especially in the autumn, of this long stretch of broad 
valley through which the Indus runs, which must be hard to 
rival in any other of the world’s uplands. ‘The roads we travel 
do not vary much from others we have described, and a 
detailed account would be tedious, so let us just look at a 
picture here and there as we go along. 

We are now travelling with the representative of his 
Majesty the King, one of that splendid set of men working 
for the good of India and the maintenance of the Empire, of 
whom we are justly proud. Our reception in each village 
testifies to the fact of his exalted position. As we enter, we 
are met by the village band, consisting of two to three kettle- 
drums, and a similar number of flageolets. High up on the 
hill overlooking the village stands the monastery, and on the 
edge of the roof twenty to thirty lamas, silhouetted against 
the evening sky, are busy with their musical honours, wearing 
their red priestly robes and those weirdly shaped hats which 
lamas like to don. At one end are several lamas with big flat 
drums, measuring about three feet in diameter and about a 
third of the thickness of an English drum, with a handle 
attached to the brim so that they are supported by the hand 
underneath at the level of the waist; in shape they much 
resemble the old fashioned warming-pan. An ordinary 
drumstick may be good enough for an Englishman, but here 
something with a more characteristic shape is preferred, so it 
is formed like a long sign of interrogation. Next to the 
drummers are those who clash fine large brass cymbals with 
a very resonant clang. One of our English friends has made 
a pair of these into a dinner-gong, and a very imperative 


102 “©Curiouser © Curiouser ”’ 


summons they produce. Next come those who blow the 
flageolets, whilst the further end of the row is assigned to 
the long shawms, which are so long that, when they are put 
away, the three parts of which they consist have to be telescoped 
one into the other. Priestly music must be described else- 
where, but the greeting to the Commissioner consists of 
single notes blown on shawms, and flageolets, clanged on 
cymbals, and beaten on drums at the same time, with a slow 
rhythm. This is not nearly so discordant as might be 
imagined, and when produced in its own setting seems quite 
harmonious. Again we are riding across a desert road with 
a village well to the left. The inevitable band has been 
sent to the roadside to play us their greeting, but next to 
them there is a group of four women, gay in their bright red 
and green, ceremonial or dancing cloaks, lined with long 
sheep-skins; one holds a pot of local beer, the next a plate of 
flour, the third a vessel of water, and the last presents glowing 
embers. One’s thoughts almost naturally revert to that scene 
in the Bible, where Abraham, having followed the army 
which had carried off his cousin Lot, returning victoriously 
was met by Melchizedek, King of Salem, with bread and 
wine. Thus does the unchanging East still keep up its 
ancient customs, even on the sandy plains of Western Tibet. 
Abraham no doubt took of the fare provided, but we had 
not been fighting an enemy, and did not feel the need of 
sustenance just then. In my politest Tibetan I explained 
that the Commissioner did not drink Chang (the local beer), 
which harmless and perfectly true remark only produced 
roars of laughter. 

Now we have ascended the Changla, a pass of about 18,000 
feet, and to right and left of our road have seen the most 
wonderful variety of wild flowers. Looking back from the 
head of the pass, we see about fifty feet below us a large, 
perfectly purple patch of ground, made up of a mass of wild 
primulas—surely a remarkable sight at such an elevation. 


“Curiouser & Curiouser ”’ 103 


Looking overhead into a clear azure sky we noticed two 
perfect and complete halos round the sun, and were informed 
by our servants that these signified either the crossing of the 
pass by some really great men, or the birth of a King. 

Our camp had been pitched in a sandy plain surrounded 
by hills, through which a sluggish streamlet meandered, 
passing within a few yards of our tents. After a cup of tea, 
partaken of inside our temporary home as a cold wind was 
blowing outside, and a rest after the day’s trek, we emerged 
for a walk, and to our surprise found that the whole plain 
had been converted into a lake. Literally within a space of 
three hours some giant must have dumped down this expanse 
of water, measuring about two hundred by one hundred and 
fifty yards. Next morning practically the whole had dis- 
appeared, and this seems to have happened daily for weeks. 
From here we passed over other plains where the same 
had occurred, till suddenly there lay before us a large green 
deep lake, from whose banks there rose a row of sandy 
mountains, behind which glorious snow-covered peaks stood 
sentinel. This large inland lake, called “ The Panggong,” 
runs far into Tibet, and is formed of brackish water. Seen 
in the morning light, it really is a fine sight. 

Leaving it on our right, we reach the village of Pobrang. 
We may call it a village, for it can boast of two houses, and 
is certainly the last resort we could designate by such a name, 
until we get well into Tibet. Here we get our first glimpse 
of the Changpas or inhabitants of the Northern Plain. 
Rough and unkempt-looking, they are not altogether the sort 
of fellows one would like to meet alone by night, but their 
jolly smile would soon dispel all fears. Let us first describe 
them, as far as description is possible, and then glance at 
their dwellings. ‘Their eyes are typically Mongolian, their 
noses large and firmly flattened. Long hair, which surely 
has not made the acquaintance of brush and comb for years, 
if ever, and which ends in a pigtail, surmounts faces 


1O4 “ Curiouser &? Curiouser ”’ 


unaccustomed to washing, but well-acquainted with smoky 
fires. Their long coats reach just below the knees, and are 
cut without shape or form of any kind. ‘The fronts of these 
over-lap, and in lieu of buttons they wear a long, broad 
kammerband round their waists to keep their coats closed. 
On the lapels of these garments are broad strips of nicely- 
coloured flannel. The Changpas are shod with long boots 
reaching up to the knees, red in colour and with very thick 
soles. ‘Their tents, to European eyes, seem to be just about 
as ridiculous as tents can be; but then the Changpa does 
not go into them for protection from the rain as we do, but 
from the wind. Although in these high uplands there is 
plenty of rain, for it seemed to be pouring or snowing most of 
the time we were up there, he considers that the wind is the 
worse of two evils, for in a high wind you cannot make a fire 
to boil your tea. He therefore makes his tent so that the 
wind shall find it difficult to get in, while the smoke of the 
fire inside shall have an easy egress. To do this he leaves 
the top of his canvas home absolutely open to the sky. His 
shelter consists merely of two sides of black cloth made from 
yak’s hair, of which the upper two corners only are fastened 
together and fixed on the top of upright poles whilst the lower 
corners are fastened to the ground. ‘These tents are so low 
that, if the Changpa wants to see what his sheep are doing, 
he has only to stand up and put his head and shoulders out 
of his “ chimney ” to view the landscape, when he resembles 
nothing more closely than a released jack-in-the-box. Inside 
their tents these pastoral people sleep, cook their meals, and 
keep their goods and chattels, while grazing around are 
their horses, yaks and sheep—a simple life indeed. 

Pobrang itself is a very pretty place, consisting of a long 
stretch of grass lying among sandy mountains with the usual 
snow-covered peaks behind. ‘Through it there run many 
delightful rivulets in which the snow-trout are so abundant 
that in quite a short space of time we pulled out about sixty, 





THE Town BAND OF LEH 


who appeared in the Moravian Mission Compound of their own accord to greet the bride and 
bridegroom on their return from Church on the rare occasion of a Sahib’s wedding in Leh. 


A PRIVATE CHAPEL. 


The service resembling High Mass being held on the verandah of a “ private chapel ”’ in 
the summer residence of a prominent Tibetan in Leh. 


‘ 





“ Curiouser & Curiouser ”’ LO5 


two of which weighed about one pound. And how unso- 
phisticated they were. At first we fished with a kind of 
larva as bait, but this was scarce, and we had to try how 
small chunks of mutton would do. ‘They proved successful, 
and were taken with avidity. We were told that during the 
autumn the natives caught them in basketfuls, for at that 
time of the year they go upstream every night, to return in 
the morning, when they are trapped and then dried, thus provid- 
- ing meat for the winter. 

From here we ascended the Kiula Pass, and on our way met 
our first flock of Changpa sheep, which were slowly grazing 
their way up the pass. ‘The largest of them was carrying a 
load, which proved to be the shepherd’s bedding and food. 
The weight did not seem to trouble the sheep at all, nor 
lessen its enjoyment of the grass. In this country sheep 
have to carry all sorts of things. Sometimes it is salt for 
selling in Leh, where its carrier is turned into mutton, and 
flavoured from its load. At other times it is bales of wool 
or it may be borax. Our camp that night was pitched at 
17,000 feet, and was bitterly cold. This camp really must 
be described, for it was a fascinating picture. 

The camping ground was so small and withal so terribly 
rocky and uneven, that a Public Health Officer of Camps, 
did such exist, would have condemned it for overcrowding. 
There were all sorts and conditions of tents ranging from the 
imposing ones of the B.J.C., in front of which flew the 
Union Jack, and the Wazir’s, flying the flag of Kashmir, 
down to the airy tent of the Changpa. Too our left were about 
thirty yaks, laden and ready to start off with our second lot 
of camp equipment to the next halting place, for now we are 
travelling de Juxe, and we like to find our camp ready 
when we arrive, making it unnecessary to wait exposed to the 
cold wind. In the centre of the camp are the horses which 
have brought us to-day, tethered to each other by their fore- 
legs. What are those sheep doing to our left? They look 


106 “Curiouser € Curiouser ”’ 


as if they might be playing a sheepish musical chairs. 
Actually they have been tied neck to neck, but with alternate 
heads looking in opposite directions, resulting in such a mix- 
up of horns, that it looks as though they would never sort 
out their own again. ‘They are being milked, which done, 
they are freed by the simple expedient of pulling the end of 
the rope, when they come undone like a piece of knitting. 
Looking around the camp we notice sixteen little fires made of 
ayug, the dry root which is found on the mountains, whence 
also the dried dung is collected for fuel. Round the nearest 
fire, on which Ladaki tea is boiling, sit four Ladakis ; at 
the side of each lies his bag of barley-flour. From the folds 
of their ample coats they pull their silver-lined wooden cups. 
These are filled, and kept filled from the teapot by means of 
a wooden ladle. Instead of flavouring it with sugar, they 
take out of small bags some butter to add to their tea, and 
there is no need to ask “‘ Have you put butter in my tea?” 
for the appetizing layer of grease floating on the top loudly 
proclaims the fact. Having quenched their thirst, each man 
fills his cup with some raw flour from his bag, adds sufficient 
tea to make a thick paste, and then eats it with his fingers. 
You ask me how they can possibly enjoy such coarse fare, 
and I can only reply that judging from their laughter, they 
evidently do. Whilst we, shivering with cold, stand watch- 
ing this dinner party, a Changpa strolls up from the river with 
a can of water. He seems to find the heat oppressive, for 
he has slipped his right arm out of his sleeve, leaving arm, 
shoulder and side of chest bare to the gentle breeze. How 
complex has become our civilization! The Ladaki needs 
but some dry flour, a little tea, and, with one rug to cover 
himself by night, is quite happy. If not, he simply takes 
off his day clothes, which then serve him as blankets by night. 
If the cold is really bitter three, four, five, six, or even more, 
sleep together, giving one another warmth. Presumably 
they do not say ‘‘ Last in bed puts out the light,” but “ Last 


“ Curiouser & Curiouser ”’ 107 


in bed sleeps on the outside,” as the outside bed-fellow has 
one side relatively exposed. Sleep at an altitude of about 
17,000 feet is fugitive, in fact neither of us got much that 
night, and, even when it did come, we woke up with a most 
disagreeable sensation, as if somebody were sitting on our 
chests so that we could not properly fill them with air. 

We have finally arrived at Drogpo Karpo, where the 
conference is to take place. This is a large grassy plain, 
surrounded by snow mountains, at the further end of which 
the camp is pitched. In the centre are the tents of the 
Commissioner and Wazir with their respective flags. In 
front of these stands a square tent nicely carpeted, in which 
are a table and chairs. This is to serve as conference room. 
We had arrived a little before time, and before the Tibetans. 
They, however, turned up soon afterwards, and presented 
quite an impressive sight, as they rode, two and two, into 
camp. First came, not the standard bearer, but the Umbrella- 
of-State-Bearer. After these some soldiers, although we 
should not have recognized them as such, had we not inquired 
as to their function, for there was nothing very martial about 
them, save the muzzle-loaders they bore. ‘They wore the 
usual dressing-gown coats of homespun held together round 
the waist by a big kammerbund, red Wellington boots with 
very thick soles and hats shaped somewhat like lemon 
squeezers. ‘hese were followed by various members of the 
staff, then the great man himself, whilst still others followed 
him. Having settled themselves into their quarters, the 
Wazir sent a message across to say that H.H. the Maharajah 
desired them to regard themselves as his guests. They on 
their part sent a delegation with twenty-five bricks of tea, 
and a piece of svambu (homespun) with the request that a time 
be fixed when their chief representative, the Gaspon, could 
come to pay his respects. Punctually to time he arrived. 
His dress consisted of a lovely blue skirt, and a Chinese coat 
of the same colour which was buttoned up to his neck. His 


108 “©Curiouser & Curiouser ”’ 


hat was the same shape as that of the London messenger boy 
only with the addition of a large brim which was turned up 
all round, and on the top was a red knob made of coral. 
From the lobe of one of his ears depended an elongated ear- 
ring made of turquoises. It would take a_ professional 
reporter of fashions to describe all the various kinds of hats 
worn, but perhaps the most favoured head-gear was an 
English felt hat, worn the wrong way round,—as it would be in 
this country,—that is the ordinary long axis going across the 
head. Others liked to flatten them into a round shape, like a 
padre’s hat. ‘Then there were hats made of papier maché in 
almost any shapethat mightoccurtothe fancy. The Tehsildar 
seems to have desired to create the impression that he was 
wearing a chorten on his head, whilst the Gaspon’s little son 
preferred the idea of a candle snuffer. 

On arrival the Gaspon placed a salutation scarf round 
the neck of the Commissioner. Photographs were then 
taken, after which we entered the conference tent, where 
we sat round a table, and, by means of an interpreter some 
kind of conversation was sustained:—the word “ sustained ” 
is used advisably, for even our Ladaki servants who speak 
the language of Western Tibet, cannot understand 
these representatives from the forbidden land, so special 
interpreters are needed. Next to me sat a jolly old lama on 
whom | tried to air my Tibetan. He evidently could under- 
stand just sufficient to be thoroughly amused. He had quite 
a jovial face, and was evidently no ascetic, but resembled 
much more the good old English friar, so often represented 
in pictures engaged in piscatorial pleasures. Needless to 
say more presents were given. Business began next day, 
but one regrets to have to report that it was impossible to 
make our friends from across the border see reason, and so 
there was finally nothing for it, but to exchange still more 
presents, and to return to our various homes. 


CHAPTER XI 
Domesticities 


HE homes of Ladak, with the exception of those 
in its metropolis, Leh, and perhaps in the small 
town of Kargil, in Purig, are practically all village 
homes. In these desert uplandsa village must centre 

round a stream, which brings its contribution from the glaciers 
of the great heights—ever in the background—to one of the 
smaller rivers, most of which eventually flow into the Indus. 
Where such a stream runs through a broadening valley, it is 
possible to lay out a series of terraced fields, which can be irri- 
gated in turn by directing the supply into small artificial water- 
courses. Indeed the turns for sharing the precious water are 
often the subject of much quarrelling, hoarse shouting and 
invective, while some less fortunate inhabitants have sometimes 
to stay up all night to water their fields. Above the area of 
cultivated terraces, and at the foot of the actual hills, where 
it is too rocky and steep to plough and sow, the houses are 
clustered, approached by stony paths or tracks, and so built 
into the hillside that convenient pieces of rock are often used 
for wall or floor, and, where the rock overhangs, even for roof, 
while a little sunny platform will be enclosed with a rough 
wall to stable the animals by day in winter. ‘The setting of 
roof and balcony is always arranged to catch the maximum 
sunshine, so that even in the low temperatures of winter, 
many domestic activities can be carried on out-of-doors. 
Crowning the chief hill of the village, and dominating its 
common life, as its position would suggest, is the monastery. 
109 


I1O Domesticities 


Usually perched on almost inaccessible crags, from its com- 
manding elevation it can not only view the activities of the 
field-workers in the terraces below, but can discern the whole 
domestic life of roof and yard at its feet. 

The road both enters and leaves the village through a 
Chorten gate. Suppose a child sets up two plain bricks with 
a third across the top, and on this placed a fat Chess pawn, he 
would have quite a good model of these chorten-crowned 
archways. But these are still more fascinating and picturesque 
in spring, when surrounded by apricot-trees in full blossom 
and seen against a background of azure sky and glittering 
peaks, for the snow then is still low on the mountains. Between 
entrance and exit, the road is usually just a rough path 
trodden out at the base of the hill, with the fields below and 
the houses above, varied here and there by a rough bridge of 
logs covered with stones and mud, and by an occasional water- 
course which must be jumped as it carries its clear ice-cold 
water along. ‘The stables for ponies or cattle, who are brought 
into the bottoms of the houses by night, in winter at any rate, 
may be enclosures roughly walled in by stones, balanced on 
each other to a height of four to six feet. These rough walls 
are also built as boundaries to fields, where there is no natural 
delimitation, as by the edge of a terrace, or to enclose small 
orchards of apricot and apple-trees, or even to fence in a 
‘“ bagh,” that is, a small plantation of trees, whose wood is so 
precious, and whose luscious bark attracts the cattle. A 
slight push with the hand topples over enough wall to make a 
convenient gap, easily replaced, for entrance and exit, and, 
after the winter months, during which the donkeys and 
sheep, and especially the nimble goats, are allowed to wander 
at will picking up such bits of roots and fodder as they only 
know how to find, there are few walls that do not need re- 
building. Round the edges of the growing cornfields 
throughout the summer cows and goats may be seen feeding 
on the scant grass, always either tethered or led by a small 


Domesticities LII 


child or perhaps by a mother with one or two children in her 
wake. A few houses are also scattered here and there among 
the fields, while in a larger village, many families have also a 
“country seat.” This yarsa, or summer-place, usually 
consists of a small hut with a stable below, and a kitchen-room 
above, leading on to a balcony or flat roof. These may be 
on the outskirts of the village, or a mile or two up the valley 
behind. Anywhere on the hillsides, not too far distant from 
the rest of the community, where a spring or brook is available 
to water a small patch of cultivated land, these yarsas may be 
found, while in a large village such as Kalatse a considerable 
proportion of the population move in the summer away to 
the hills, taking their cattle with them to the so-called drogs. 

Coming back to the village one often notices a little roofed 
balcony placed over the front-door, containing its three 
miniature chortens, coloured red, white and blue, with its 
demoniacal gods crudely painted on the wall behind. Near 
the house a young girl may be seen with a small stone in her 
hands pressing out the oil of apricot-kernels on a large flat 
boulder with a hole in the middle, into which the fluid runs. 
This oil is used for cooking purposes, for dressing the hair, 
and for burning in the little vessels before the altar. On the 
high road we have met in early summer donkeys and ponies 
loaded with sackfuls of these apricot kernels, proceeding down 
to Kashmir to sell them for the same purposes. ‘They come 
from Baltistan, where the best apricots of this part of the world 
grow, and one can picture the inhabitants sitting out in the 
winter sunshine, when there is no field-work to occupy them, 
and cracking open the innumerable stones necessary to fill 
all these sacks with kernels. The seeds of a species of mustard 
plant are used for the same three purposes, though the 
mustard-oil is not so strong as that of the apricot. 

In the house of the headman of the village, and in many of 
the better-class homes of the town, one room is dedicated as 
a little private chapel, used chiefly by the master of the house 


112 Domesticities 


for reading his holy books and repeating his prayers. Here, 
too, the lamas are accommodated when they are sent for to 
come and “do religion” in the house. Their presence can 
be detected from afar by the monotonous beat of their drums, 
while nearer at hand the sound of their chanting can be 
heard. At such times, lasting one or two days, the priests 
must be both fed, and paid in money. 

Where a whole room cannot thus be set apart for religious 
purposes, a small corner in the best room will be arranged as 
an altar with all the necessary paraphernalia of ritual. ‘These 
include the brass vessels for burning oil, vases containing 
peacock feathers, and chased vessels of brass, copper or silver 
or combinations of these to hold the rice, barley and other 
offerings. Quaintly-shaped vessels for holy water, small 
idols in metal cases, with a tiny window in front and slots at 
the side through which string may be passed to tie them 
round the waist when travelling, salutation-scarves of wide 
meshed raw silk, little bits of tawdry rags, doubtless blessed 
by some Skushog, and one or two sacred books in their long 
covers also find a place there. 

One has often noticed in Mussulman homes that the best 
room is always used by the head of the house if he falls sick, 
and in most houses the best gowns and coats, especially the 
headman’s, adorn its walls, along with soiled ‘Turkish towels 
hanging on rough pegs. But surely the best and brightest 
room is most conducive to a successful toilet and effective 
ablutions ! 

The ordinary inhabitant, however, who only gives his 
religion an average place, and who cannot afford many 
Jamaistic luxuries, generally has to make a living-room of his 
best room, though as we have already indicated most houses 
have a large bright room upstairs for use in summer. The 
greater part of the side of this is a window space, framed in 
wood with three or four longitudinal partitions, each of which 
can be filled to any height desired for warmth or privacy by 








A SKUSHOG AND HIS MoNAsTIC BAND 


greeting the Britlsh Joint Commissioner on his tour. The Abbot is seated on a ‘‘ wooden throne.”’ 


THE Bic DRvum. 
A similar band, shewing especially the type of drum used with its hooked beater, like a large 
mark of interrogation, 
THE CHIEF TIBETAN REPRESENTATIVE AND HIS SON 


who have come to confer with the British and State (Wazir) Joint Commissioners of Ladak 
about a boundary dispute. 





Domesticities 113 


fitting a series of short horizontal boards into the slots cut in 
the sides of the framework. ‘The big family stove is built of 
a special black mud, deposited at the bottoms of rivers or 
streams, or dug from under the damp turf on their banks, 
which becomes very hard when dried. ‘The stove is roughly 
square in form, with a hole at two or more corners round which 
the hard mud is raised into three upward projections, thus 
supporting the local rounded cooking-pots. ‘These are made 
of copper and tinned over by the local blacksmith. We Euro- 
peans have to be very careful to have this lining kept intact to 
avoid copper poisoning, but one often finds the Ladaki 
brewing his tea in a pot from which all traces of tin have long 
ago vanished. Perhaps this is why we are so often upset 
when we accept invitations to meals in their houses. In 
front of the stove on the right-hand side is a projection of the 
same hardened mud, which is to accommodate the right-hand 
of the “ fire blower,” as he operates on the bellows. These 
are very effective instruments with a large nozzle pushed well 
under the glowing fuel, and an elongated bag of goat-skin at 
the outer end of which two small bars of wood are attached, 
with small loops of strongly-twisted thread in the middle. 
Through these the thumb and fingers are placed to open and 
close the mouth, and though it sounds and looks a simple 
process a certain knack must be acquired to get a good fire. 
Children of the house often keep it going, but the fire-blower 
is generally a sooty-faced, ragged woman servant, the counter- 
part of the old scullery-maid in the West. ‘The stove has a 
large central tunnel with branches radiating out to the corner 
holes, and in the middle is a depression for the biggest hole 
of all. 

Here the large pot of butter-tea is generally brewing. The 
tea, of which the best variety comes from Lhasa (where it is 
used as coinage) in bricks, is stewed for some hours, then 
mixed up in a special churn, phonetically named a gurgur, with 
butter, soda, salt and milk. Some writers have said our 

H 


114 Domesticities 


Tibetan friends prefer rancid butter, but in Ladak at any 
rate, those who can afford to be so are most particular that 
the butter shall be fresh, never melted previously, and with- 
out a strong smell. The resulting concoction to us tastes 
more like soup, and few Westerners can stand more than one 
or two cups without disastrous results. For the Tibetan on 
the other hand it is one of his staple foods, its butter helps to 
supply the carbo-hydrates which he so rarely takes in the form 
of sugar, though he gets plenty of starch from his uncooked 
barley-flour, mixed with water or tea. The fat also warms 
and sustains him in the bitter winter, and as this separates 
out if allowed to cool but slightly, his cup is supplied with a 
metal lid and saucer if he moves in better circles, and 
his wife or attendant constantly adds hot tea as soon as there 
is any room to fill up. In this way over twenty cupfuls may be 
taken at one midday meal. _ For us it 1s a very trying custom 
when we visit our Ladaki friends, and we have to explain that, 
just as much of our tea (fortunately for us !) upsets them, so 
our internal economy can only deal with a small supply of 
their favourite beverage | Another difficulty for us is to sit 
cross-legged on the floor for so long, and, although we know it 
is bad manners to stretch out legs, eventually when stiff knees 
or needles and pins become intolerable, we have to ask our host 
or hostess to excuse the position. ‘To return to the fireplace 
—we find the seats of election are on the side of the stove 
opposite the bellows, for here is a little trough into which the 
hot ashes are pushed through from the other side, as aeration 
necessitates. Squatting cross-legged on mats round these 
hot embers, which can be constantly raked over with a rough 
fire-spoon or even the hardened fingers of our native friends, 
we can stretch our hands out over the warmth, and renew the 
glowing vitality by occasionally leaning over to give a few 
good blows. ‘This cosy corner is, of course, the warmest at 
night, and given to either the weakest or most distinguished 


member of the household. ‘The Doctor Memsahib once had 


Domesticities I15 


the privilege of coming upon a family unawares just at dawn 
in the middle of winter. She had been called out to a case in 
a village, nine miles from Leh, the last two miles of which had 
to be done in the dark, that is by snow and starlight, and 
she and her Ladaki nurse were glad to walk over the frozen 
snow a little to keep their feet from freezing. Already icicles 
stretched from upper to lower eye-lashes, and whiskers, formed 
by the frozen moisture of their breath, adorned their mouths. 
The patient’s friends had sent for the Doctor three days too 
late ; already two small lives were extinct, and the last dim 
hope of the mother lay in a surgical interference. An opera- 
tion was performed, after sterilizing instruments in a cooking 
pot by the light of a fire of sticks on the mud floor, the nurse 
giving chloroform for the first time. But it was too late and, 
at about two a.m., the patient died. We sat on till the first 
dim light appeared, for out-of-doors we feared wolves in the 
dark, and a strange experience it was. On one side of the 
room the corpse covered with sacking and filthy sheepskin, 
near the fire on the floor quietly sobbing, was the unkempt, 
shaggy, ragged husband, who, for all his uncouth appearance, 
had exhibited the most extraordinary tenderness and patience 
with his suffering wife ; near the stove his mother-in-law, a 
wrinkled old hag, who wailed intermittently. On the further 
side of the stove hens nestled. In the next cold fireless room 
two children were sleeping, and we were told that downstairs 
a blind old grandfather had been put in the straw cellar (again 
the “ wrong way round”’ compared with our hayloft in the 
West) to keep warm in the horses’ fodder. ‘The Ladaki 
nurse spread her coat, lined with sheepskin in the corner by 
the stove for her Doctor, and fetched a thick horse-cover for 
herself. The fire of manure in the stove had gone out, and 
the two mourners occasionally added sticks to the one on the 
floor, but the room was bone cold. The family were so poor 
that they had not offered us even a warm drink during the long, 


bitter night, though, when they thought we were drowsing, 
HZ 


116 Domesticities 


they themselves took a little barley-and-water soup. Nor 
was there a cup from which we should have cared to drink, so 
our supper consisted of one and a half buns each, which the 
Memsahib had hastily crammed into a pocket. As soon as 
it was light enough to see, we crept out of that chamber of 
death into the crisp freshness of the morning air, leaving our 
ponies and saddlebags to be sent afterwards, and made our 
way over the hard snow to the nurse’s home, which happened 
fortunately to be in the same village. Here, then, we roused 
the family from where they slept, all together in the big 
kitchen-room. ‘The old grandmother was in the cosy corner, 
cuddling up a little grandchild, and other members had their 
bedding on the floor round the room, the head of the house 
and his wife being in an adjacent chamber. ‘The latter was 
soon blowing the bellows, and the nurse made a hot native 
soup for the Doctor Memsahib; and how welcome it was with 
its tiny wormlike rolls of flour and water in the steaming 
broth. Later on chupattis and butter-tea were prepared for 
the family breakfast, which was served about nine o’clock, the 
women clustering near the big stove, the men warming them- 
selves round a fire of sticks kindled on the floor near by, and 
the head of the home doing a little spinning as he waited for 
his meal. In this establishment the old grandmother, a 
widow, had been assigned separate rooms in the house, so that 
she could live quite independently if she pleased. It is quite 
usual when the son of the house marries and has reached 
years of discretion, for his parents to retire if they wish to do 
so. Then all the possessions are divided into three parts, the 
parents retaining one, whilst the other two go to the eldest 
son. When the parents die, he also gets their share. Finally 
everything really belongs to the heir, but he is responsible 
for seeing that the other members of the family have sufficient 
provision. | 

But before we leave the family group round the fire, let us 
inquire a little more into the nature of their meals, and some 


Domesticities 117 


of the customs concerned in the partaking thereof. ‘The 
better class Ladaki always washes his face and hands before 
eating. The Buddhist also performs his particular kind of 
grace before meals. First he takes a little of his flour which 
he throws away for the gods. ‘Then he dips his ring-finger 
and thumb into his tea or chang (beer), and flips a taste of that 
away for their benefit, too. He uses the ring-finger as he 
considers this the cleanest of his digits, for man is born with 
this finger in his nose. If he wishes to stir anything, he uses 
this same member. If for his meal he has killed a sheep, he 
is supposed to offer up a bit of its heart, kidney, liver and every 
part of its flesh to his god. But meat is rather a luxury for 
the normal household, yet they have many ways of cooking 
it which are really delicious. When a dronm or feast is 
made, the meat is of course, prepared as a very tasty curry 
to be eaten with rice, the meat being first fried with plenty of 
cooking-butter and onions, then stirred for hours till it is really 
tender in a well-flavoured sauce with plenty of vegetables. The 
rice is served, piled up on enormous plates, each of which two 
or three guests will attack, unless they have brought their own 
normal sized plates. The grander ones then eat with small 
spoons, the man’s being a different shape from the woman’s, 
as the latter is double, the second tiny receptacle at one end 
being for a child. It is not etiquette to finish up what is on 
the plate—in most cases it would be impossible; the mother 
especially must take a large portion home for the rest of the 
family. ‘The feast is usually begun with butter-tea, and, if so, 
when the plates of rice and meat have been removed, it is 
quite good manners in some circles to clean out the cup with 
one’s tongue (much more labour-saving than our ways of 
washing up !), ready to have it filled with stewed dried apricots. 
After this course, the same cleansing process will prepare the 
cup for more filling of butter-tea! “*‘Chupattis,” that is, round 
flat cakes of unleavened bread, are generally served too, and 
dipped into the apricot juice or the tea. At a very grand 


118 Domesticities 


feast, proceedings may begin with gyatug, a dish of long 
vermicelli-like strips of flour-paste over which mincemeat in 
a nicely flavoured sauce is poured. Meat is also minced and 
made into delicious little dumplings, called mok mok, or well- 
flavoured and rolled up into sausages, which are eaten with 
rice—in fact in a rich house, after the plates of rice have been 
served, many kinds of subsidiary dishes are handed round with 
meat done up in different ways, sauces and vegetables, the last 
often soured. For a drow an experienced cook is hired to 
take charge of all the culinary operations, usually a Mussul- 
man, otherwise one of the women of the house superintends 
the kitchen. But in the villages where there are no butcher 
shops, and a sheep is killed only occasionally, the staple food 
is butter-tea and barley-flour, varied with all sorts of vegetables 
prepared in several ways. The poorest people mix the flour 
in water just as it is, eating it out of cheap little wooden cups 
with their fingers. 

An ordinary middle class family will breakfast on butter-tea 
and small breads, raised with leaven called kambir ; at mid- 
day they will have more tea, and perhaps chupattis with a 
sauce of vegetables, mixed with buttermilk, while in the 
evening, tea may or may not be served again with flour 
kneaded into a paste in some form or other, and mixed with 
meat well stewed in a broth. 

More usually as the hot tea is drunk, the butter floating on 
the top is blown to one side, and after many cups a nice little 
residue is left with which to mix up the raw flour with the aid 
of a finger. 

In summer when milk is more plentiful, its various products 
are much used asa food. ‘The milk is collected into a large 
pot at night and warmed, some sour buttermilk being added 
to make it curdle. The pot is then covered with garments 
and blankets so as to maintain the blood-heat for proper 
fermentation. Some of it may be set aside to eat as zho, this 
being a kind of junket, only less insipid, especially when well 


Domesticities I1Q 


made of creamy milk; it then has a delicious fruity flavour with 
a slight suggestion of wine. By early morning the zho in the 
large pot will have set, and the house-mother must rise early 
to churn it. She has a long instrument with leather fans on 
the end, which must be kept twirling in the pot, and it is a 
matter of some skill both to keep the curdled milk at the right 
temperature by adding hot or cold water, and to twist the 
churn at the correct rate. An experienced housewife even- 
tually separates out a fine cone of yellow butter, while in the 
pot the sour buttermilk is left, the remainder of which, after 
having retained enough for the household’s needs, is taken to 
the bazar to be sold. It is used for various kinds of food. 
Vegetables, which we would consider weeds, are collected from 
earden and field, washed, boiled, washed again, then kneaded, 
fried with onions and added to the darra or buttermilk. This 
mixture is used as a sauce with zan or baba, which 1s made by 
boiling the milled flour of roast wheat, barley and peas into a 
mash. ‘The peas are like our English ones, but harder and 
more flavourless. The milk curds when set are also hung up 
in a bag, and after all the whey has dripped out and the curd 
dried, it is well pressed and cut into strips,—perhaps fried in 
butter and used in soup. From Yarkand come dried curds 
of horses’ milk, which is also used for this purpose. Other 
changes in diet are afforded by mixing barley-flour into paste 
with a little chang or native beer, and allowing it to ferment. 
This is then dipped into and eaten with more chang. Another 
delicacy is made by mixing good butter, sugar and, perhaps, 
currants into a paste and eating it with chupattis like jam. 

At the New Year a special dish is provided by making a 
round flat barley-cake, and pouring a little butter into a hole 
in the middle. 

All this use of flour, whether of wheat or barley, pre- 
supposes the long processes of cleaning the grain, shaking it 
up and down on a shupu (a kind of straw tray), so that the loose 
husks blow away, and the little stones and odd bits which get 


120 Domesticities 


swept up with it from the threshing-floor are easily separated, 
washing it, spreading it out in the sun to dry, watching it the 
while so that birds do not steal it, then sending it to the 
miller in large sacks, and sitting to watch it being milled so 
that none is stolen by him, for which cause the flour should 
also be weighed before and after grinding. ‘The mill itself is 
as effective as it is simple. Below is a large flat stone, above 
and resting upon it is another, connected with a paddle on 
which the water impinges, thus driving it. In the centre of 
the upper mill-stone there is a hole through which the grain 
drops from a cone-shaped basket, getting thus between upper 
and nether mill-stone. ‘To keep the cereal running gently, a 
goat’s horn is attached to the basket and allowed at its other 
end to touch the rotating stone, whose roughness keeps the 
basket gently shaking. A trough is dug round the edge of 
the circular mill-stones, and in this the flour collects. ‘The 
whole is picturesquely housed in a little stone and mud hut, 
which is placed over a rapidly flowing watercourse, the 
momentum of which is increased by a sudden drop before 
entering the mill. 


CHAPTER XII 
Modes &&* Manners 


HE most important domestic work next to the 
preparation of food is spinning, and it is rare to 
visit a house without finding some man or woman 
busy with wool. First of all the raw wool has 

to be procured. ‘The majority of this comes from the Chang- 
tang, the great “ Northern Plain”’ beyond Leh, on the way 
to Greater Tibet, but some comes from Yarkand, and there 
are many varieties and qualities of it. [he best wool, called 
lena, is of soft, silky texture, and 1s the short downy growth 
near the skin of the goat, which grows in winter under 
the long shaggy hairs, and is removed for export in summer. 
A still finer quality of camel-coloured wool can be obtained 
from the breast and neck of the Tibetan antelope, but as 
twenty to thirty of these animals have to be captured in 
order to procure one Jatti of this wool (a common measure- 
ment in Ladak, equal to four English pounds), the price of 
this quantity is about Rs20, in the raw state, so the textile 
products, though exquisitely fine and soft, are expensive 
and rare. ‘The ordinary soft /eza wool is sent in large 
quantities to Kashmir, where it is known as pashmina and 
is woven into the celebrated Cashmere shawls. At the time 
of the great Mogul Emperors, Mirza Hedar, grandfather of 
the celebrated Akbar, came to Ladak from Yarkand with 
five hundred men, and paid a long visit to the King. At 
the latter’s request, he conquered the country of Purig, and 


presented it to his host, then went on down to Kashmir and 
I2!I 


122 Modes & Manners 
subdued it for himself. The Ladaki King sent him some 


Snambu or Ladaki home-spun, woven of /ena, as a present, 
and he admired it so much that he introduced the import of 
the wool into Kashmir. He is said to have had it woven 
into the first two shawls, or sha/, the word meaning “a 
board,”” a name which he seems to have given them faut de 
mieux, for it hardly suits such essentially fine soft cloth. Two 
Persians then came to Kashmir to buy saffron and cummin, 
and bought these shawls to take back to present to their 
King. Next year they tried to obtain more ; later the cloth 
was taken also to Alexandria, and so its fame slowly became 
world-wide. ‘Thus these delicate soft shawls are really derived 
from the protection which nature has given to our long-haired 
Himalayan goats to withstand the excessive cold on the roof 
of the world. 

But we must return to the large part played by wool in the 
domestic activities of Ladak. First of all the raw product, 
arriving in rough twists, must be cleaned. If it is washed 
in water, the resulting cloth or szambu is said not to be so 
nice, but sometimes there is no choice, for the wool may be 
so impregnated with fatty grease that it has to be taken to the 
nearest spring or clear-running water to be cleansed, though 
it must never be squeezed or rubbed in the process. Some- 
times it is further cleaned with white chalk from the cliffs 
near by, with which it is well mixed, then teased out. The 
next process, or ma/ches, consists of the pulling out of the wool, 
and teasing out all little bits of tangled, extraneous matter, 
so that it is quite soft and ready to spin. ‘Then comes the 
actual kalches or spinning, which is carried out on a slender 
cone of wood, elongated at both ends, called a p’ang. ‘The 
end of this is supported in a little cup, either hollowed out of 
a small block of wood, or, what is infinitely preferable, made 
of the kernels of apricot-stones after all the oil has been pressed 
out, leaving a hard matrix or kind of oil-cake. The left hand 
manipulates the p’ang, twisting it to and fro in its little cup, 


Modes & Manners 123 


while the right hand feeds the wool on to the spindle and pulls 
it out into long threads. These two activities of malches and 
kalches are the constant occupations of the women in their 
homes, and do not hinder them from keeping their eyes on 
the family dinner cooking on the stove, or on the babies 
crawling round the floor. Spinning is continued also while 
they sit on the roof with their neighbours, gossiping and watch- 
ing the happenings on the adjacent house-tops. Even to 
purdah Mussulman ladies, who are not too strict, the roof is 
available. Roof-land in the East is the woman’s special 
domain, where she can gather all the news, and witness many 
an interesting street scene, the participants little thinking of 
the fair eyes enjoying all the thrills of their quarrellings from 
their vantage-point behind the tiny slits or windows in the 
low walls which sometimes surround the flat roof. More 
often, however, the roofs of the houses, whose owners keep 
ponies, have a light wall all round, made with bundles of 
lucerne which slowly dry there, and in this land of scanty 
rainfall remain in good condition until the next harvest, 
adding a picturesque touch to the appearance of the dwelling. 

After the wool has been spun on to the p’ang it 1s taken off 
from two of the latter, placed side by side, and wound on to 
a ball. ‘Then they are twisted together on to another p’ang, 
which has a little wooden disk attached to one end. This 
process of zhuches is combined with the kalches by many 
spinners, but if done separately, the resulting home-spun is 
less likely to be crooked or to pull and give in the wrong 
directions. Another advantage of doing the twisting alone 
is that it may be done in the bazar while the ladies spend the 
afternoon marketing. Having arrived with baskets on their 
backs, filled with the little local vegetables grown in their 
small gardens or weeded out from their cornfields, their 
twisting is also brought, and a lot of wool can be prepared 
while they stand about or squat on the ground, talking to their 
fellow-vendors in the intervals between attending to their 


124 Modes & Manners 


customers. A much quicker way to get on with the twisting 
is to attach the wool to hooks on the roof from which the 
spindles are suspended. ‘Then, sitting on the ground with 
four or more spindles in a row, each in turn may be given 
a twist with the hand, and so four or five balls can be twisted 
up in less time than one. Where there is an industrious 
housewife, large balls of wool may be seen hanging from the 
roof or even out in the fresh air of the balcony, where the fish 
insects are less likely to get them, ready for the coming of the 
weaver. Ifa very fine cloth is required, the balls are first 
soaked in water to shrink and harden them. ‘The warp is 
prepared out in the road where there is a nice level stretch, 
and an experienced weaver walks up and down its length, 
arranging the threads and directing his assistants. The 
warp is then wound on a roller and transferred to a machine 
for weaving. The woof is made from the wool of three 
pangs twisted together and passed in and out on a shuttle. 
The weaving machine is a very primitive-looking affair, 
worked by a treadle, and the resulting szambu 1s little over a 
foot wide, so that a Ladaki garment has many longitudinal 
seams. But before sewing, the cloth must be shrunk, and a 
whole day is spent trampling it on a flat stone selected for 
the purpose in a running watercourse. ‘This decreases its 
width by another three or four inches. It is then wound on 
a smooth stick and rolled up and down for about an hour by 
way of mangling it, and finally spread out in the sun to dry. 
If it is to be used for a woman’s or a lama’s dress, it still has 
to be dyed the necessary dark red. 

For sewing clothes a special man is generally employed, 
but rough mending anyone will do, especially the men. 
Both sexes also help in the regular irrigation of the crops in 
summer, and the other agricultural occupations in their 
season. ‘There are the cattle to tend, in which occupation the 
children are so useful ; some of the male members may travel 
about the country trading, while there is always the bugbear 


Modes & Manners V2 


of supplying for the forced labour on the road, exacted in 
lieu of taxation from each village. 

So we see there is plenty to do even on the roof of the 
world, and we must not grudge the man of the house his 
leisure when he sits down to have a restful pull at his hookah, 
the favourite pipe of the East, passing it round for the other 
men, and even some of the women, to have aturn. As their 
hands intervene between their mouths and the mouthpiece, 
this is not so unhygienic a sharing as it sounds. Sometimes 
the snuff-box will be passed round, too, and in the villages 
snuff or ash for this purpose may easily be procured by collect- 
ing and burning a kind of broom from the hillside. If your 
friendly “* hubble-bubble ”’ has been left behind, a pipe can 
easily be arranged by making a hole in the ground, tunnelling 
a passage into it, then pushing in a hollowed piece of wood 
as your mouthpiece. Now place your tobacco into the hole, 
get on your knees, bend down, light up, and there you are. 

Let us look at our pigtailed friend as he bends over his pipe. 
Down the back of his natural-coloured garment is a long 
greasy mark where his pigtail rubs on it. ‘The pigtail itself 
is continued by wool when the hair gives out, and his big wide 
skerag, a long woollen sash about six inches wide and six feet 
long, bound in many turns round the waist with the ends 
tucked in, is wound over it, so as to keep it in place. This 
skerag, as we have already seen elsewhere, is a repository for 
many articles, either stuck in the back or depending from the 
front, or, like the little wooden travelling-cup, placed inside 
its voluminous folds. Another repository for accommodating 
the cup or other precious things may be termed the breast- 
pocket, for it is entered where the coat folds over in front of 
the chest. But before we leave the pigtail and its greasy 
mark, we must learn that a Ladaki gentleman likes to have his 
hair washed about once a month, a process during which he 
must sit with his head on a wooden support, while his wife 
or nearest female relation carries out the ablutions with soda 


126 Modes & Manners 


and warm water. ‘There is something very ludicrous in the 
sight of an aged be-whiskered man-servant, coming to his 
daily work with his long hair hanging round his shoulders 
to dry, but the sun soon does its work, and the hair can be 
well oiled with apricot or mustard-oil, and plaited up again. 
The ordinary fur-lined Ladaki hat with its turned-up corners 
is of Indian origin, though the long robe comes from China. 
If the corner of the hat is turned down, it signifies that the 
wearer is in mourning; while if the whole thing is worn 
jauntily at an angle, it is the sign of a true dandy. Before 
the great war the words ‘‘ Made in Germany ”’ were often 
seen on a hat, generally upside down, but to the wearer it was 
illegible, and regarded as a nice pattern selected from the 
edge of the roll of cloth. It is quite good manners to use 
the corners of one’s dress as a handkerchief, turning it up to 
blow the nose on the inner side. When a great occasion 
demands smart clothing, it is also quite correct to borrow 
whatever is necessary from a friend. 

The outstanding feature of a Ladaki woman’s appearance 
is the extraordinary arrangement of hair and head-dress. 
The latter is called a perag, the first part of the word being 
an old name for turquoise. 

In olden times the women of this country wore a round 
head-dress like that which adorns the lady of Purig or of 
Central Tibet, until a Ladaki King brought his royal consort 
from a small state in the closed land where the perag was the 
national head-dress, and the ladies of his realm at once copied 
their new Queen. ‘The perag consists of a central elongated 
piece of leather, covered with red cloth, converging slowly to 
a long narrow point below the waist behind, and a shorter 
blunt one in front. ‘The whole thing is supposed to represent 
a snake, and the front part appearing over the forehead 
certainly resembles the head of the cobra. On this bright 
red background rows of turquoise matrix are sewn, often 
ending in front with a chased gold and silver ornament, 


Modes & Manners 127 


studded with small turquoises. Sometimes a large red 
cornelian also varies the apex. ‘This would seem startling 
enough, but unfortunately a later Queen had an attack of 
earache, so attached a large piece of black lambskin each side 
to protect her ears. ‘The court ladies must do likewise, so 
now every perag is accompanied by these large ear-flaps, and 
the coiffure is most wonderfully adapted to them by plaiting 
the hair into a number of small plaits, which are sewn into 
the ear-pieces at each side, and continued with wool down the 
back on both sides of the perag to unite below in a large 
tassel, which reaches to the bottom of the skirt. ‘To one 
side of the perag a projection of silver from which rows of 
coral-beads depend is also fastened. ‘This is said to represent 
the serpent’s tail, though it seems to us to have become 
rather dislocated. In the villages there are only a few rows 
of turquoise on the average woman’s perag, but the town 
ladies are very resplendent, and their head-dresses become so 
heavy with stones that they sometimes support them by a 
broad black tape passing under the armpits. ‘The central 
portion is taken off at night, and sometimes when at work 
in the house, leaving the ear-pieces in place, stitched to the 
hair, for so elaborate a coiffure can only be taken down once 
a month, when the hair is washed, oiled and done up anew. 
For this process in the town a lady hairdresser attends, 
getting four to eight annas a day, and in addition food of the 
feasting standard. In the country the women have to 
oblige each other. Also occasionally the whole perag has to 
be taken to pieces, a new red cloth substituted, and the 
turquoises resewn, during which time the proud owner of a 
brilliant head-dress has to be content with her ordinary fur- 
lined hat. Small girls sometimes begin with a skimpy little 
perag at the age of five or six, bearing a single row of turquoises 
in front and ending in cowrie shells behind. ‘The latter are 
slowly replaced as funds permit, and cowries should only be 
worn by unmarried girls. By the time she is grown up, a girl 


128 Modes &? Manners 


should thus have quite a good sized perag, which functions as 
her dowry, in fact she regards it as her bank, for she invests 
money in turquoises as a provision for widowhood or old age. 
The mother’s perag usually goes to the eldest daughter at 
her marriage, after which the mother must be content with a 
small one. As the eldest son inherits all land property, so 
the eldest daughter inherits all ornaments. Unfortunately 
the number and size of the turquoises on a head-dress are a 
source of great jealousy, and a lady with a very resplendent 
perag is often one of suspicious morals. In olden times the 
ladies of high rank in Ladakall wore ear-flaps of sable, brought 
from beyond Yarkand, but now these are seen only on the 
Queen and the old Queen Mother. Another custom trace- 
able to a royal indisposition is that of wearing a large gold and 
silver ornament in front of the neck at weddings. This 
originated from the desire of a Queen on such an occasion to 
hide a goitre which disfigured her neck. 

The women also have manyother ornaments. Ear-rings of 
seed-pearls, threaded on a large wire hoop, which passes round 
the whole ear, with one or two turquoises and corals at the 
bottom of the circle. Necklaces composed of little chased 
gold amulet boxes, interspersed with coral and turquoise, or 
other less elaborate ones, made with red beads and little 
silver ornaments. Silver chatelaines worn on the breast, 
with picks for nose, ears, teeth and other purposes, and large 
round brass ornaments at the waist from which leather threads 
pass to a brass needle-case, to the other side of which are 
attached a number of chains of cowries, also threaded on 
leather. Finally bracelet-cuffs, made of chased silver or 
white shell, used to knock together in salutation but also 
convenient for keeping back the long sleeves. 

Here is another custom the reverse of ours, for whereas 
European women wear short sleeves, in summer at any rate 
(the Ladakis probably think this must be to economize stuff), 
both men and women in this country have them cut very 








BALTI COOLIES. 


They carry peculiar sticks in their hands on the march, like a short crutch with rather a long 
cross-piece at the top. When they stop to rest, they pass the stick behind and under the 
load, so that it takes the weight off their backs. 


A LADAKI WEDDING GROUP, 


Shewing the rich Chinese robe of the bridegroom and his high tinsel-covered hat. He wears 
his nuptial white scarf and a gold amulet box studded with turquoises. His little wife is 
rather obscured by her large cape lined with sheepskin. 





Modes & Manners 129 


much longer than their arms. In winter this is very useful, 
as the hands can be threaded in the opposite sleeve to keep 
warm, and any surplus length in a man can always be turned 
back as a cuff. A woman’s trousers are also far longer than 
her legs, and look very peculiar garments when spread out 
to dry. But the concertina-like creases into which they fold 
when worn, and which come right down to the ankle, add 
all the more warmth in winter. An unmarried girl wears 
white trousers, but a married woman must wear black, at any 
rate after the birth of her first son. A woman’s skerag or 
waistband is also wide and very long, and wound round her 
very tightly. Her gown is shaped rather differently from a 
man’s—the bodice and skirt being cut separately, and the latter 
sewn on to the former with very full pleats, and if it 1s a best 
dress the whole is edged with an effective little narrow bind- 
ing of gay pattern. Occasionally she thinks to enhance her 
beauty by using the small berries of a common weed, and 
sticking them allover the upper part of her face, where they look 
like little yellow spots. ‘These berries are also said to relieve 
headache, and withdraw superfluous serum. We must also 
mention the head-dress of the Mussulman women in Leh, for 
the town contains a large proportion of them. ‘The perag 1s 
rightly considered an emblem of an idolatrous religion, and 
should be discarded on changing over to Mohammedanism. 
Then a white head-dress covering over a little round founda- 
tion cap, and hanging in folds to below the waist, is worn. 
In front is an ornament which may be quite costly, of seed- 
pearls and turquoises, often arranged to form the sign of the 
crescent. 

Now we come to those important members of the home, 
the children, and it would be hard to find more fascinating 
little persons than the elfish little sprites whom we meet in 
Ladak. To our Western eyes the flattened face and large 
cheeks of a Mongolian type of baby are particularly quaint. 


When Baby is coming, in contrast to the complicated 
I 


130 Modes & Manners 


layettes over which the occidental mother spends so many 
loving hours, no preparations of clothing are made, but as soon 
as he has arrived safely, some cloth is fetched from the bazar 
in which to wrap him. Before his birth his mother must eat a 
great deal of fat to “‘oil the wheels” well for his arrival. One other 
preparation has been made, for goat’s dung has been collected, 
dried (and incidently somewhat sterilized) in the hot sun, then 
crushed up finely. This powder is then placed on a sheep- 
skin, upon which Baby is laid, and thus all his excretions are 
absorbed, the powder being changed every day or two. 
Lactation is continued as long as possible, sometimes to the 
third year, but the child is also allowed to eat other food, just 
as he fancies. Some women once visited the Doctor Mem- 
sahib on a winter evening and were astonished when she took 
them to peep at her baby, for had she not left the sleeping 
child alone, in the dark, and in a cold room with the window 
wide open? ‘Their babies on the contrary sit on their 
mothers’ laps or crawl about until the grown-ups go to bed, 
tasting all the supper, and enjoying the warmth, not to say 
stuffiness, of the big stove, as well as all the light and con- 
versation. While still a tiny mite, Baby is slung in a cloth 
over the back of his small sister, who makes a little picture of 
premature motherliness, as she goes to her work or play with 
a bobbing baby on her back. 

It is extraordinary how alike childhood is all the world over. 
These children have a game called the wolf and lamb, very 
similar to our fox and sheep, in which they will sing “‘ The 
wolf is not there; to the horse gate we'll go.” ‘Then the 
wolf comes out, and the mother sheep with outstretched arms 
has to try to protect her little ones, who stand behind her in 
order of height, while the bad wolf seizes the last and smallest, 
one after the other until all have been stolen. ‘Then there is 
a kind of hopscotch, which has come up from India, and an 
indigenous hide-and-seek called Yid-ches-lo-lo. And of 
course the boys have their games of fashioning idols on the 


Modes & Manners 131 


mountain side and imitating the lama’s ritual, or pretending 
to be kings and wazirs, with wars and fighting. ‘The little 
girls—true daughters of Eve—interlace iris leaves to imitate 
perags, and exercise their housewifely instincts by making 
little houses and kitchens of stones and earth, and arranging 
quite nice little models of the family stove on which the 
most delicious dros are cooked, for, “‘lets’ pretend” is a 
more potent spell than ever in this land “the wrong way 
round.” 

But soon work begins to be mixed with their play. Little 
people early become expert with the bellows and can keep the 
fire going, while mother attends to the contents of the cooking 
pots, for to make bright flames is always fascinating. Quite 
small children can take out the sheep and goats, and even 
the cows, keeping them in sight on the damp turf near 
spring and stream, where there are all sorts of games to 
be played, stone throwing, bridge-building, dam-making to 
irrigate minute fields, and all the wide-world mud delights of 
children. In the autumn fuel must be collected for the cold, 
hard days of winter, and the boys and girls, slipping their 
old sheepskins on their backs to keep the baskets from wear- 
ing out their clothes, go off to the hills to follow up the tracks 
of donkeys, ponies, zos and yaks, picking up the manure and 
flinging it over their shoulders into their baskets, varying 
their work with laughter and fun, and many a game. Back 
for breakfast, then off again till midday, and then another 
basketful in the evening, till a goodly pile of dung is drying 
on the sunny roof. As the leaves fall, they too must be 
swept up with rough little brushes of straw tied together ; 
basketfuls of these are taken home and used to roast the 
barley before it is milled. Still better are the long days of 
spring and early summer, when boys and girls go off to the 
neighbouring hills and valleys to collect durtsa and other roots. 
for fuel, or to mind the sheep and goats while they wander 


about in search of fodder. These long days in the mountains 
12 


132 Modes & Manners 


are real picnics, for zaz and cooking-pots and wooden cups 
are all taken, also a little bit of food ready prepared in the pocket 
to eat when away up the hillside, where many a tale is told, 
and many a song is sung, echoing across the valley from one 
rocky perch to another. So the happy days of childhood pass, 
and in this land of primitive needs it is indeed difficult to get 
the children together for school. In the winter they get up 
so late, for fuel is scarce, dung has to be collected, and wood 1s 
so expensive, and bed is the warmest place till between 9 and 
10 a.m. Summer is still worse, especially for the girls, as 
they must be off to the hills with the sheep and goats, so 
cannot be spared, and when they reach their teens plans for 
marriage are laid. 

But why learn arithmetic when nature provides such a con- 
venient counting-board as the knuckles. With the thumb as 
pointer, each finger has three joints, a total of thirty on which 
calculations can be made. Why measure time in years, 
when a contract may be worded as poetically and conclusively 
as follows :—‘ the bond to last till the crows turn white, and 
the glaciers melt.’’ Where payment is made in kind, wages 
need not be calculated; thus your fields can be worked by giving 
the labourer part of the products. Only the gods must not 
be forgotten, for the first few handfuls of corn plucked must 
be tied to the pillars of the best room, and dedicated to the 
god of the brotherhood to which any given family belongs. 
For each family is linked up in such a brotherhood, the 
members of which are called pa-spun (man-brethren). ‘These 
are originally relations, though outsiders may be sworn-in at 
a special feast, and all worship at a common altar, presided 
over by their special deity. This custom is said to be a 
remnant of the ancient worship before Buddhism came to the 
country, the gods sometimes having Hindu names. ‘The 
altar is originally built as a platform of mud and stone, and 
on it is placed a clay pot, round which a wall is built. Into 
the pot are placed small offerings, such as grain, coral, pearl, 


Modes & Manners 133 


pieces of silver and gold, and then a local Skushog or great 
lama comes to dedicate it. The mouth of the vessel is closed 
and the wall built up over it, then, on top of this is placed 
another clay vessel whose offerings are renewed annually. 
On the third day of the new year the lamas are called in, and 
fresh offerings of rice, wheat and barley are dedicated, while 
the altar is decked with flags, branches of the pencil cedar, 
arrows, and horns of wild sheep and goats. Members of the 
brotherhood have certain duties to perform in connection 
with the great events of life. After death only a paspun 
may touch the corpse, and in marriages it must be a paspun 
who carries all the bride’s belongings and dowry to her new 
home. ‘Thus the countryside is linked up together in the 
bonds of a brotherhood based on religion. 


CHAPTER =Xiil 
Professions €§ Industries 


F, have now to watch our Ladaki friends as they 
earn their livelihood, for not all are owners of 
fields, and even those who are find that an 
extra vocation allows of a dish of meat, rice and 

other luxuries on special occasions. Let us begin with the 
professional gentlemen. The clergy will be treated with 
elsewhere, but in addition there are doctor, horologist, teacher 
and nun to consider, all of whom, though not real priests, are 
regarded as performing religious functions. ‘There are quite 
a number of doctors, some of them doing useful work, 
although the treatment, by even the best of them, occasionally 
shows shocking results. Their method of training is much 
like that which obtained formerly in England, when he who 
aspired to medical knowledge became apprenticed to a 
practising physician, and thus by actual experience learnt his 
trade. The theoretical knowledge is found in four large 
volumes, belonging to the Kahgyur which are the one hundred 
and eight large books containing the wisdom and knowledge 
of Lamaism. The doctor or amchi dons no distinctive dress, 
but he can always be recognized, for slung over his back he 
carries his medicines tied in a long cloth. These he has 
carefully collected on the hills during the spring and summer 
months, his knowledge of herbs being doubtless considerable, 
and to his stock he adds by purchases in the bazar from down- 
country merchants. See him as he climbs up the rickety 
staircase right on to the roof to visit one of his patients who 
134 


Professions & Industries Ra 5 


lies huddled up in a corner, complaining of bad pains in his 
knees, one of the ills to which most Ladak is advanced in age 
seem to be heir. ‘The bad knees are felt, the tongue looked 
at, and then the serious business of examining the pulses— 
in the plural—is undertaken. Although they are all found 
at the wrist where the Western physician looks for the single 
one, yet there are actually six pulses, three on each hand, so 
that not only may the pulse of the heart be examined, but also 
those of the stomach, lung, liver, kidney and spleen. ‘This 
thorough examination finished, the doctor proceeds to treat- 
ment, which in this case is the cautery, a great stand-by of 
the amchi. ‘This may do good if only it does not go septic; 
at any rate it is a strong counter-irritant. Some powder is 
then given, and the patient informed exactly how to take it, 
whether with hot, cold or lukewarm water. Food, too, has a 
most important bearing on the complaint, for, whilst the meat 
of a white sheep will do nothing but good, that of the black 
would aggravate the symptoms. As this patient has no fever, 
he may let himself go to sleep, but if a man has a temperature 
to let himself drift into such an unconscious state would 
certainly be fatal. Cupping, the raising of blisters, and 
venesection are other methods of curing all sorts of complaints. 

Next to the Lama the Ozpo or Horologist is perhaps the 
most important individual, for if you wish to plough your 
field, to call in the lamas for the reading of holy books, or 
desire to choose the best day on which to marry, in fact for 
the decision of all the important affairs of life, you must get 
him to settle the auspicious day. ‘There is little to distin- 
guish the ozpo outwardly, but on official occasions he may 
dress like a lama, even to the wearing of a priestly cap, but 
his pigtail will distinguish him from the ecclesiastic. On his 
back he carries his bundle of books, and the Tibetan almanac. 
Puntzog, who is thirty years of age, visits the horologist, for 
he desires to attend the festival at Hemis, but he wants to 
leave Leh on the best day possible. Hemis occurs in the 


136 Professions &° Industries 
fifth Buddhist month, and, referring to his books, the oxpo 


finds that for him to travel in sucha south-easterly direction on 
a Thursday in the fifth month is most auspicious. But 
consulting the star for that day he finds the fates are unkind, 
and that should Puntzog leave on Thursday, he will be 
robbed. What is to be done, for, in every other respect 
Thursday is so lucky ? Further research into the horologist’s 
library shows a way out of the dilemma. Let Puntzog go 
seven steps in the direction of Hemis the day before, returning 
then if he likes, and he can travel safely on Thursday. One 
day the oxpo paid the Doctor Sahib a visit, and he, wishing 
to have horological proof of his married bliss and to be 
assured of its continuance, asked the ovpo to read his nuptial 
horoscope. His age being forty-three years showed that he 
was born in the “water sheep” year, whilst his partner 
appeared in this incarnation in the “water snail” 
year. Now it is quite evident that water and water mix 
splendidly, so that divorce was out of the question. But 
he had had a narrow escape, for a year’s difference would have 
been disastrous, as it would have involved the union of wood 
and water, and as the latter rots the former, married happiness 
would have been impossible. He then inquired whether his 
actual wedding day had been a good one, and a beam over- 
spread the oxpo’s face when his books told him that both the 
day and the constellation pointed to the choice of a perfect 
day. Not only riches, but a quiver full of children would be 
our lot. The ozpo also advised the Doctor to take a sea 
voyage this year, for he was born in the water year, and this 
is the wood year ; a ship is made of wood and is meant to go 
in water, therefore such a journey would be most auspicious. 
As he was to travel to England this year he trusted the omens 
would not belie themselves. . 

Among professions a few words must be said about nuns. 
Most Buddhist families like to have one representative in the 
Church, but sometimes they have no boy or cannot spare one. 





PIGTAIL AND PERAG. 


A typical Ladaki man and woman taken in summer. ‘The lady need not wear her cape in and 

about the house, and the sidepiece, or ‘‘ tail of the serpent”? is missing from her perag. 

The gentleman shews well the effect of the rubbing of his well-oiled pigtail on his natural- 
coloured homespun. 


7 


oar 





Professions & Industries a7 


In this case a girl must do duty. She begins her monastic 
life early. Her hair is shorn, she dons the clerical red, which 
is, however, cut like the dress of a lay-woman, and wears a 
tight-fitting red or yellow hat, with the sides only turned up. 
She is now dignified with the title of Grandmother or di 
Fomo, just as a lama of any age is respectfully venerated 
as Grandfather or Meme Lama. Generally the nuns 
continue to live quietly in their homes, but sometimes they 
are segregated, as in Lamayuru, where there is quite a little 
nun village. They do not in Ladak perform any ritual, 
though in Central Tibet they are fetched from their convents 
to read the holy books in private houses just as the lamas are. 
They of course remain unmarried, and are generally very 
ignorant, spending their time in menial labour or working in 
the fields of the monastery. 

The teachers in this Buddhist country are generally lamas, 
and their work is practically restricted to teaching those 
youths who will enter the Church or the sons of noblemen 
toread. Itis quite unnecessary for their scholars to understand 
the written page. In this there is little virtue, but the 
actual reading of holy books is meritorious. If the lamas are 
called in to read Chos (religion), they each take one page and 
then read all together, so that ten lamas reading ten pages will 
get through a book of a hundred pages in one tenth of the 
time, which is all to the good. ‘The only books possessed by 
Buddhists are religious ones, and when the unsophisticated 
villager sees a Westerner reading a novel or secular literature, 
he respects him for “reading religion,” though a more 
travelled gentleman may suspect the reading of an akbar 
or newspaper. The Mohammedans too have schools for the 
children of their co-religionists, and their text-book is, of 
course, the Koran in the original, namely Arabic. Sitting in 
a sunny spot in a semi-circle can be seen about a dozen 
Mussulman boys, each with a book before him. The teacher, 
an ordinary layman, who knowsa little more than his brothers, 


138 Professions & Industries 


acts as mentor. He probably has a shop on the other side of 
the road, and keeps his eye open for stray customers while 
listening to his pupils. He reads a phrase and all the boys 
say it after him. Ask taught or teacher to explain what has 
been read, and they will acknowledge complete ignorance, and 
this with absolutely no feeling of shame. In Mohammedan- 
ism and Buddhism it seems as if the letter does not kill, but 
gives life. If the teacher is tired, he allows his class to 
practise reading by themselves. Each boy reads in a loud 
voice what ‘ seemeth him good,’ and a horrible noise results. 

Next in importance, though not in status, come the musi- 
clans and minstrels. Although no function is complete 
without the band, yet those providing the music are low in 
caste and classed with carpenters, both generally of Mon 
descent. They possess two kinds of instruments only, the 
small kettle-drum, the parchment of which is tightly stretched 
over a wooden frame shaped like a large bowl and is beaten 
with two short sticks; these drums are termed dummadums, 
which describes the music made so accurately that nothing 
further need be said. ‘The other instrument is the flageolet, 
made of wood about two feet long, decorated with silver, and 
having a small metal mouthpiece. ‘The tone this produces 
is a beautifully mellow one, and the tunes consist of many 
demi-semi-tones. If necessary these gentlemen will play 
almost continuously from morning till night, only needing a 
little beer or butter-tea and barley-flour occasionally to keep 
them going. ‘These are the professional musicians, but many 
an ordinary family can boast its bard, who recounts the 
wonderful deeds performed by the mythical King Kesar, or 
tells of an heroic act done by some ancient townsman. ‘The 
story is told, but every now and again the teller breaks into 
song, accompanying himself on his home-made fiddle. This 
is much like its Western counterpart, only the wooden section 
is narrower, shorter and deeper, and this sound-box is 
covered above with parchment. Strings are made of sheeps’ 


Professions &° Industries 139 


gut, and the bow of horsehair. Let us listen to Tsiring 
Rolmar, as she recounts to her husband and her two boys, 
one of these stories. In the corner of their living-room is the 
stove, behind which sits the housefather on a slightly raised 
platform, before him his cup of tea which he sips the while. 
On the opposite side, also sitting cross-legged, is his lady, who 
while she spins her yarn, blows the fire with her goatskin 
bellows, and at her side her youngsters drink in the story. 
Like all good tales hers begins—‘“‘ Once upon a time,” and 
goes on to tell of King Sralkai, of his little son Ulastopgyes, 
the princess Laches, and their cruel step-mother, who in order 
to rid herself of her husband’s children feigned illness, and 
asked him to go to a certain old woman physician who lived 
on a hill far away. While the King was on the road thither, 
the wicked queen, successfully disguised, took a short cut and 
arrived at the mountain first, then told the King that the only 
cure for his queen was a meal made of the hearts of his two 
children. Sadly he returned, and we follow the prince and 
princess through a long and tedious history of various unsuc- 
cessful attempts to murder them, until eventually Ulastopgyes 
is recognized as a prince and is crowned king of a great 
country. His thoughts return to his poor old father, and he 
goes to rescue him from the wicked queen, who turns out to 
be a witch and is slain, whilst, of course, the rest live happily 
ever afterwards. But do not imagine this story is told in so 
few words—an hour would not suffice for all the details, and 
many cups of tea are drunk before the fortunate family 1s 
eventually allowed to “live happily ever after.” Of such 
stories there must be hundreds, and for every myth or fairy- 
tale which we have in the West, the Ladaki has his ‘Tibetan 
version. In the same way it would not be difficult to find a 
Ladaki proverb similar to almost every English one. Besides 
the story-teller and his fiddled accompaniment, there is the 
amateur with musical propensities who can express his 
feelings on a flute, also home-made, just a bit of hollow stick 


I40 Professions &° Industries 


with the necessary holes and the mouth-piece. So one often 
hears a piping from the youths who stroll out in the fields on 
a summer evening, or finds a hidden talent being brought to 
light among one’s servants round the camp fire in the leisure 
following the day’s march and cooking. 

But no description of Ladak could be complete which did 
not consider the merchants who meet here from the four 
points of the compass, especially during the months of 
September, October and early November. At this time the 
Leh bazar becomes full of all sorts and conditions of men— 
the fair Yarkandi jostling the slit-eyed Tibetan, the Kulu man 
or his neighbour from Lahoul doing business with the men 
from Baltistan, Kashmir and most provinces of Northern 
India. And what do all these folk bring ? From the North 
comes the Yarkandi with carpets of garish colours, furs of 
snow-leopard, fox and wolf, stone martin and beaver, Khotan 
silks and thick felt mats. It has taken him a full month of 
most difficult travelling over vast mountain ranges to get here, 
in fact the road is marked out in some places by the bleaching 
skeletons of man and beast. Before he can sell his wares, he 
will have to travel another month to reach the Plains of India. 
Here he purchases cloth which he takes back to his home and 
sells there at a good price. Many of the Yarkandis combine 
religion and business, coming over the passes in the late 
summer of the year, and going via Bombay to Mecca, then, 
after the sacred pilgrimage has been accomplished, they 
return through India, still trading, to cross the passes the 
following autumn. In Leh, the Yarkandi has either to buy 
horses or sell them, for the Kashmir State makes its own 
transport arrangements between Leh and Srinagar, but from 
here to Yarkand no such facilities exist. It is amusing to 
watch them doing a horse deal, for though it is done in public, 
outsiders are none the wiser concerning the purchase price. 
Each man places a hand up the voluminous sleeve of the 
other. Says the buyer—‘I1 will give you Jmeme” simul- 


Professions & Industries I41 


taneously pressing the seller’s arm with two fingers, but 
he, not wishing to sell at the suggested Rs200, presses 
the buyer’s arm with five fingers saying, “sso”? which 
signifies his willingness to sell at Rs2s50. Eventually 
they strike the bargain at Rs230, two pressures with 
the spoken word of Jmeme, and three to sso having settled 
the deal. Then we also can watch the Tibetan who 
has brought salt, borax and Lhasa tea to barter with the 
Balti for his dried apricots and cooking-butter. The 
nomad from Changtang brings the long soft wool from his 
long-haired sheep, which the Kashmiri trader carries down to 
be transformed into pashmina, the basis of the far-famed 
delicate Cashmere shawls. ‘The nomad gentleman does not 
seem at all chilled himself by the cold nip in the autumn air, 
for he often has a shoulder completely withdrawn from his 
long, wide sleeve, and the exposed lung area seems quite 
insensitive. ‘The man from Kulu has carried kerosine up 
here, and perhaps also china cups, whilst the merchant from 
India supplies German cloth or rich stuffs for the Ladaki gala 
dresses, chemises and pantaloons, haberdashery of all kinds, 
Indian tea, spices, cigarettes, and the hundred and one things 
which are needed by the Ladaki housewife to keep her family 
up to the standard of civilization locally attained. In autumn, 
when trade is at its maximum, it is a good thing there is no 
vehicular traffic in the bazar, for the more bulky wares are 
deposited in large bundles about the main street, and it is only 
possible for the pedestrian to steer a zigzag course along the 
thoroughfare, further complicated by the waiting yaks, zo’s, 
horses, asses and mules. 

One would like to describe how the blacksmith makes a 
hole in the ground and, with goatskin bellows and charcoal, 
gets quite a good fire in which he works his metal and makes 
his pots, pans and attractive teapots; also to tell of the 
carpenter, sitting on the ground holding the plank with his 
two feet and one hand, while sawing with the other, and in 


142 Professions & Industries 


order to make this possible has the teeth of his saw turned 
the opposite way to the English saw ; or of the seamster 
making his Ladaki hats. But time and space will not permit ; 
suffice it to say, that, whenever possible, the Ladaki workman 
seems to do things “the wrong way round” as far as our 
point of view is concerned. 


CHAPTER XIV 
Occidental Treatment for Oriental Maladies 


EACE, after the Great War, having been finally 

ratified in 1919, every important town throughout 

India had its celebrations, and Leh, the Capital 

of Western Tibet, could not, of course, omit them. 
There was no doubt as to the thoroughness of our rejoicings, 
which lasted for four whole days, but their ending was of a 
disastrous nature. Fireworks had never before been seen in 
Leh, and a generous Commissioner supplied the town with 
its first tamasha of the kind. In the centre of the square 
court in front of the Wazir’s house, a large bonfire was made, 
but for some reason or other the Kaiser’s efhgy was not 
enthroned thereon. Surrounding this at some distance, a 
large crowd of men, women and children were gathered. ‘The 
two local policemen were in charge of the display, and pro- 
duced loud ** O—/e’s” of wonder as they let off rockets, squibs, 
catherine wheels, crackers and Roman candles. ‘Towards the 
end, however, some of the policemen’s assistants got too near 
to the bonfire, with the result that the remaining fireworks 
ignited, and went up in a blaze of light, causing burns to 
about half-a-dozen people. One of these gentlemen, thinking 
no doubt that such a unique display would entrance the 
celebrations at his next wedding, had quietly filled his trouser 
pockets and other handy places in his garments, with fire- 
works. But, alas, his display came off rather sooner than he 
had anticipated, for he too caught fire, and provided quite an 
interesting spectacle as he rushed off to the nearest stream in 
which to put himself out, the while belching forth rockets and 

143 


144 Occidental Treatment for Oriental Maladies 


other magnificent lights from various parts of his person. But 
these had to be quenched as soon as he could possibly seat 
himself down in the brook, crushing in its covering of ice and 
snow to soak in the cool depths of its bed. ‘Those injured 
adjourned to the Moravian Mission Hospital, where we con- 
cluded our celebrations by dressing their burns, but this 
gentleman, not wishing to disclose the fact of his unlawful 
annexations, went elsewhere to have his injuries treated. 
Weeks after, however, he came to us, still suffering from the 
effects; and we were able to cure him also. The initial item 
on our programme of peace celebrations was one entitled 
‘“ Procession of Notables round the Town.” ‘The notables 
consisted of Tehsildar, Naib Tehsildar, Darogas, Naib 
Darogas, Policemen, Naib Policemen, Telegraph Master, 
Postmaster, Charas Officer and his staff of assistants, Aksakal 
and his clerks, and in fact anybody who could find a pony on 
which to ride. Among them figured also the Missionary 
‘“* Padre ’’ and Doctor, indeed these two considered themselves 
notable “Notables,” for they were asked to head the pro- 
cession, one on each side of the chief magistrate, and were 
preceded by our noble company of sepoys. If the common 
people of the town were not edified by this sight of their 
notables on horseback, their sense of the sublime must have 
been sadly lacking. So we feel we have every right to include 
ourselves among “other professional gentlemen” of the 
town, as representatives of Western Medicine. We cannot lay 
claim to being unique in this respect, for the Kashmir State has 
its Dispensary in the charge of a Sub-Assistant Surgeon. 

So now let us visit the combined Moravian Mission Hospital 
and British Charitable Dispensary. Like all our houses in Leh, 
the Hospital buildings are made of mud-bricks. In the centre 
of the compound is the Hospital garden, which is enclosed by 
the wards and administrative buildings. Entering the out- 
patient room, we find a very cosmopolitan crowd awaiting 
attention. ‘The greater number are, of course, Ladaki men 


Occidental Treatment for Oriental Maladies 145 


and women, both Buddhists and Mohammedan, the latter 
revealing the fact by wearing turban or red fez, and their 
names often indicating that they were formerly Buddhists, 
who had been converted to the faith of the prophet ; this is 
done by adding the word “ Sheik ”’ to their new Mohammedan 
names. ‘Then there are Baltis, ill-clad looking creatures with 
their meagre black skull-caps from under which appear long, 
curly, but unkempt-looking, locks. How different from the 
two or three well-dressed, distinguished-looking Yarkandis, 
who sit next to them, stalwart men from Chinese Turkestan. 
Their faces are almost as white as that of the European, with 
shortly-cropped black hair and black beards, and they wear 
nice warm wadded garments cut somewhat like a frock-coat 
with very long sleeves, but of less sombre colours, sometimes 
a silky glossy cloth of black or even nice blue. To brighten 
this a large gay coloured embroidered square scarf is worn, 
folded triangularly with the apex downwards in the middle of 
the waist behind. On their heads are green or other coloured 
caps, lined with fur and turned up round the edge, or white 
pugarees. Occasionally these gentlemen bring their wives 
with them. Being Mohammedan they may not show their 
faces to strange men, and they therefore cover them with a 
voluminous head-dress, with network squares let in over their 
eyes through which they can look. ‘Then there are some 
Kashmiris, men with beautifully regular features, strongly 
reminding one of pictures of good-looking Jews and of stories 
of the lost ten tribes of Israel. Other down-country races, too, 
may be represented, such as the Punjabi, or perhaps a Sikh, 
with the fringe of his black beard neatly plaited, and often the 
proud Pathan or Afridi appears. ‘That wild ferocious-looking 
fellow with long, untidy, straggling hair is, of course, one of 
the upland nomads, whilst the well-dressed man who is sitting 
on one of our two stools is a merchant priest from the closed 
land of ‘Tibet. Now shall we stand at the doctor’s side, and 
listen with him to some of the complaints of these patients. 
K 


/ 


146 Occidental Treatment for Oriental Maladies 


A very old and dirty-looking beggar-man enters, and calmly 
addresses the Doctor as follows, “‘ Well, Little Brother, can you 
give me some medicine?” “‘ Yes, certainly, Grandfather,” 
replies the very professional Doctor, for in Ladak we are all 
related. ‘Then comes a sedate, elderly lady, who tells us she 
is called ‘‘ Deskyid,” a name as pretty as its meaning, which 
is beautiful-happy. “And what is your trouble, A-che (Big 
Sister) Deskyid ?”’ the Doctor inquires. Poor Deskyid has 
a very troublesome disease, for she feels as if the back of her 
leg had moved round to the front! ‘The patient next to 
consult the Doctor is even in worse plight, for her arm has 
gone quite hangdang, which literally means mad. ‘The 
Doctor knows of no medicine that is able to cure these 
troubles, but paints both offending members with Iodine, in 
the hope that its colour at any rate will help the leg itself to 
distinguish back from front, and bring the erring arm to its 
senses. [hen comes a lama, who asks whether we can supply 
him with a little human flesh. We had never regarded our- 
selves as a shop for this commodity, and on inquiry are 
informed that should one wish to obtain the powers of witch- 
craft, or sprinkle any offering with a very potent potion, it is 
necessary to get a concoction consisting of various kinds of 
flesh, including human flesh, milk, blood and other ingredients. 
This should be drunk by the devotee, who will then receive 
mystic powers. ‘This is, of course, a relic of the old canni- 
balism and human sacrifice which preceded the arrival of 
Buddhism, and is still reflected in a common oath constantly 
heard in the roads—Amai Sha, which means “‘ by my mother’s 
flesh.” Our friend had to obtain these occult powers without 
our help! Priests also have their troubles. Said one to the 
Doctor, and he a Holy Incarnation, too, “‘Can you give me 
some medicine which will turn my skin white like your own.” 
One can only hope he will behave so well in this incarnation 
that he may be re-incarnated in a white race next, although it 
is whispered that such a degradation only happens on account 


Occidental Treatment for Oriental Maladies 147 


of former sins. Another patient—this time a Royal one be 
it noticed—asks for some medicine which will stop his beard 
from growing. Could such be produced much trouble 
might be saved for him as well as many others. The next 
comer informs us that he himself is not a patient, but that 
away at his home his little brother 1s suffering from headache, 
and is quite aggrieved that treatment without examination is 
refused. Now a Balti comes, who says he is perfectly well at 
present, but that he is quite certain one day he will have a 
pain in his digestive organs, and he would like to be prepared 
against that day. Another old gentleman has returned for 
more medicine, although only yesterday he had been provided 
for three days, and on being reproached for having disobeyed 
instructions, advances the perfectly reasonable argument that, 
if one dose of medicine is going to do him good, ten doses 
will multiply the good effect tenfold. 

Having seen all our out-patients and attended to their 
treatment, we adjourn to the operating-room where a cataract 
is to be removed. To-day our patient is of noble rank, being 
the mother of the chief Rajah of Ladak. Some days pre- 
viously the old King had asked us to operate on his maternal 
relative, and we actually fixed the date, but, alas! he found on 
consulting his horologist and books, that we had chosen a 
most inauspicious day and begged the Doctor to change it, 
which he did. ‘There lies the old lady on the operating-table, 
her refined features and well-kept hands testifying to her good 
breeding. We scrub our hands so thoroughly that the 
onlookers, among whom is the King, no doubt feel this is 
part of a religious performance preceding the operation. 
Having arranged the sterile towels, we are just about to start, 
when the exalted son begins walking up and down the room 
rapidly, saying his Om Mani pa dme hungs, the while turning 
the beads of his rosary. This is hardly conducive to the 
stillness an English surgeon would desire when performing 
a cataract extraction. ‘The obstructing lens is removed, how- 

K 2 


148 Occidental Treatment for Oriental Maladies 


ever, and great is the joy when the old lady finds she can again 
see, but she can hardly be surprised, when the day was so 
auspicious, and her son’s prayers had been so vigorously 
performed. She was then sent back to her ward, which had 
been converted into a fairly regal apartment by means of 
Tibetan rugs and cushions and other paraphernalia brought 
from her castle. Fourteen days later she was told she could 
now return to her home, but she told her royal Physician that 
she was so enjoying her holiday that she would like to stay in 
our Hospital for another fortnight. Her royal wish was 
regarded as a command, and we prolonged her holiday, but 
before she finally left, she honoured us by calling at our house 
with her retinue, and to testify their gratitude for restored 
sight she and her son presented us with gifts. 

But now let us go to the wards. The word “ ward” 
conjures up pictures of long rooms, with spick-and-span 
white painted walls, and floors so polished and smooth, that 
one feels skates would be the safest foot-gear ; tables with 
plate-glass tops and beautiful flowers, and rows of white, 
quilted beds. But in the frontier hospitals of India, wards 
are not quite of this nature. Whena Ladaki goes to Hospital, 
he does not go alone, but likes to take as many of his family 
with him as he can, and our wards are made to accommodate 
them all. This has the further advantage that the family’s 
cooking fire, which is often made on the floor in the centre of 
the “ ward’ helps to heat the room. The whole building is 
made of mud bricks, some floors are boarded, others are not. 
We enter the first ward. Here isa man on whom we operated 
to remove large tumours, depending from the lobes of his 
ears, which had formed because he would persist in wearing 
ear-rings. We warn him that if he does not restrain his 
vanity in future, he will get further growths, but he replies 
that it is a religious duty for him to wear the ornaments, and 
he had actually come to have his keloids removed in order to be 
able to wear ear ornaments again. In the next ward we find an 


Occidental Treatment for Oriental Maladies 149 


old lady who has had her cataract removed. She is lying on 
the floor by the side of a nice spring bedstead, on which she 
had been placed yesterday after her operation. In reply to our 
query why she did not stay quietly on her bed, she says she 
felt so giddy sleeping so high up in the world, and more safe on 
the floor. ‘True, she cannot fall out of bed now. In Ward 3 
is a Yarkandi whose leg we have had to amputate to save his 
life. He has come that difficult journey from Yarkand, over 
the Karakorum range of the Himalayas and the Dipsang 
plateau, and been overtaken by frost-bite. Very likely at the, 
end of the hard day’s march over the snow he was so exhausted 
that he fell asleep without troubling to take off his heavy boots, 
and the circulation had no chance to re-establish itself in the 
severe cold. In the next ward we find that a string has been 
stretched across from one wall to the other, over which 
strips of meat have been hung, and we are told that the family 
are drying their next winter’s supply. One can just imagine 
the happy expression on the face of an English Surgeon, who 
on entering his ward found such activities being pursued. 
In the next ward we can see nothing, for it is filled with acrid 
smoke which so hurts our eyes that we beat a rapid retreat. 
Dinner is being cooked! But we must not linger longer with 
our in-patients, for we would like to take the reader with us 
on a medical tour. 

When we visited Kyelang, it will be remembered that we 
made a detour to a place called Lingshed. Messengers came 
to beg us to go to this village in 1916, because it was so 
central, and they promised that blind folk from the whole 
surrounding district would gather there; the further 
inducement was held out that throughout the trip the question 
of supplies would be made easy for us. So one evening we 
found ourselves in our tents in Lingshed with about thirty 
blind folk sitting round. We examined their eyes, deciding 
that some were operable, others not. The latter were in- 
formed as kindly as possible that no operation on earth could 


150 Occidental Treatment for Oriental Maladies 


cure them of their blindness, but our solicitude seemed 
unnecessary, for they remained quite cheerful, merely saying 
“ Lanchaks,”—that is “we are atoning for our sins in a 
former incarnation.” No doubt those successfully operated 
upon are getting the reward for former good deeds, and for 
the successful operation it is quite unnecessary to thank the 
Surgeon when virtue is being rewarded. ‘The next question 
is, where are we to operate ? Under the open sky the sun is 
too grilling and brilliant, and the tent is too small. We have 
detected a verandah which would make a most suitable 
temporary operating-theatre, in fact it is practically the only 
available spot, but, on suggesting this, are informed that 
this is a temple verandah and belongs to a very great and holy 
man. ‘“‘ There you cannot operate ” we are told emphatically, 
and reply that the reason adduced makes the place more 
desirable than ever, and we must operate there or nowhere. 
This point is gained, or partly so. We might operate on the 
men there, but not the women, for they must not enter such a 
holy place. Alas! the Doctor Sahib must have had a strange 
upbringing, for he informs these Lingshed men that in the 
peculiar country whence he comes, the dictum is “ Ladies 
first,’’ and only when these are done can the Lords of Creation 
be tackled. ‘That settles this point, but not even yet are all 
our difficulties overcome, for a very old lama finds his way to 
the Doctor, who having examined him, finds the eyes quite 
operable. He is, however, begged not to give the old fellow 
his sight, for he is so poor that he has not sufficient food to 
sustain him while the wounds heal, nor a helper to care for 
him during his time in bed. ‘The former objection is easily 
overcome for we begin to charge in kind for the medicines we 
dispense, and soon the old fellow finds himself quite well off 
in flour, rice, and dried apricots, and a nurse is also provided 
for him. Preliminary arrangements having been completed, 
we make our way one fine morning to our temporary operating- 
theatre in the verandah of the temple. An old bedstead 
which cannot boast a spring-mattress, having only a rough 


Occidental Treatment for Oriental Maladies 151 


network of rope, serves as operating-table. A small box does 
duty as instrument table, whilst an X travelling wash-stand 
must serve for the Surgeon’s washing of hands and that, too, 
of his assistant. ‘The first patient 1s brought in, a woman 
who prostrates herself before the door of the temple. One of 
the villagers has been impressed as an extra assistant, and is 
now instructed thoroughly to wash the lady’s face with soap 
and water. She is then laid on the dirty bedstead, and her 
dirty clothes are covered first by a sheet of clean mackintosh, 
and then by towels which have been sterilized in Carbolic 
Acid, and her not overclean hair is likewise covered. Cocaine 
is then instilled into both eyes, the Surgeon and his assistant 
wash their hands, then kneeling at their very low operating- 
table proceed to extract the cataracts. This done, fingers are 
held up for the patient to count, and the onlookers reveal 
their interest and joy by ejaculations of “‘wah!,” or “ tong dug”’ 
—‘she sees.” Eyes are bandaged, and the next patient 
tackled. ‘That day we did twenty-two cataract operations, 
and afterwards were inclined to boast about it till we met 
another Missionary Doctor,—Holland of Quetta,—who told us 
that he had done over ninety in one day. And the results? 
Of our twenty-two, eighteen received good sight, two were 
partially successful, whilst two were failures. Considering 
the dirty patients and dirtier surroundings, we felt the results 
quite justified the trip. We stayed a few days longer till it 
was safe to leave those on whom we had operated, and then 
began our return journey, thinking ruefully of how the 
deputation from Lingshed had promised to furnish us with 
supplies on the road, and had faithfully done so until the 
operations were over and there was little more to be got out 
of us. On the way home we were left to fend for ourselves, 
and our poor ponies had occasionally to go hungry. Ingrati- 
tude, and not gratitude, is one of the prominent character- 
istics of the Ladaki, for does not a good action bring its own 
reward, and the Doctor will have reaped much merit from his 
medical tour. 


CHAPTER XV 


National Pastimes & Sports 


“ But their style of playing polo was irregular and rash 

They had mighty little science, but a mighty lot of dash : 

And they played on mountain ponies, that were muscular and strong 

Though their coats were quite unpolished, and their manes and tails were long.” 


“When the Geebung boys got going it was time to clear the road ; 
And the game was so terrific that ere half the time was gone 
A spectator’s leg was broken—just from merely looking on.” 
A. B. Paterson. 


¢ 


S food without salt is savourless, so is work 
without play ”’ says the Ladaki proverb, and, 
putting precept into practice, he flavours the 
toils of life with a variety of games which he begins 
early in life. The Leh youngster makes three little heaps 
of dust in the high street of the capital, places a stick in each, 
produces a home-made ball of rags, another larger stick 
for bat, and, like boys in the home-land, begins his game of 
cricket by a heated discussion as to who should have the 
privilege of first innings. If sticks are scarce, he takes a 
small one, about six inches long, points each end, then with 
a club he strikes one of the ends sharply ; the stick rises up 
in the air, and as it falls he hits it again as hard as he can, 
and lays down the club. Then his opponent picks up the 
small stick and from where it has fallen throws it at the club 
which he tries to hit. Visions of small boys playing an exactly 
similar game in England come to the mind. Football, too, 
has become thoroughly acclimatized, and is played by old and 


young. ‘The former, having raised a proper ball, tuck the 
152 





National Pastimes & Sports 153 


bottoms of their dressing-gown coats into their ample belts, 
and play with bare or merely stockinged feet, whilst their 
younger brothers enjoy their game just as thoroughly when 
they play it with a rag ball. ‘The game of marbles too has 
found its way here, but must adapt itself to the poverty of the 
country. Stones as round as can be found are used, or 
if walnuts abound they do service for a similar game. A 
hole is dug in the ground or in the raised base of a chorten, 
and the aim is to throw as many of these walnuts into it as 
possible. Nor are the Ladaki lasses without their games. 
A finger or stick traces in the sand and dust the lines necessary 
for hopscotch just as efficiently as the chalk-line on a London 
pavement, and little Ladaki legs, although they are shod with 
clumsy native footgear, do their hopping just as nimbly as 
those of their English sisters. 

The Ladaki also believes in the dictum, ‘“‘ what thy hand 
findeth to do, do it with all thy might,” at least as far as games 
are concerned, and with a little training he would compete on 
equal terms with our own countrymen. Those boys sent 
down-country to the Rev. C. E. Tyndale Biscoe’s splendid 
school rapidly pick up hockey, tennis, badminton, swimming 
and rowing, in fact, excel in all sports. But let us now watch 
them at their own national games, the favourite being polo. 
Ladak may not be the home of polo, but it certainly found 
its way here at an early date. Even if it arose in Persia, it 
very soon migrated to Gilgit, and the Dards, no doubt, 
brought it with them to Ladak, and now it is not even a 
hyphenated Ladaki game, for most good-sized villages have 
their own polo ground. In Leh, the capital, the game was 
formerly played in the high street, but this evidently became 
so dangerous for the shopkeepers that now we have a proper 
polo ground. This consists of a level space about two 
hundred yards long, which cannot boast of a blade of grass, 
but is covered by a layer of dust so thick that before play 
begins, it has to be laid with water. On one side it is bounded 


154 National Pastimes & Sports 


by the high wall of the Wazir’s or State Commissioner’s 
garden, on the other by a low wall about one foot high built 
of large stones, piled one on top of the other without mortar 
or cement or even mud. Halfway along this, a platform of 
mud and stones has been erected, from the top of which 
‘the notables ’’ watch the game, a Shamiana or awning being 
erected on high days. ‘Two large stones at either end are 
sufficient as goal-posts. On the ground itself to one side sits 
the band of four; two flageolets and two kettle-drums. ‘These 
at one moment are announcing another goal obtained and at 
another are defending themselves from the polo sticks, for 
the game is raging right in their midst. But now let us turn 
our attention to the players and their mounts. Here it is 
not the rich man’s game, a stud of horses is quite unnecessary. 
Even a poor farmer possesses one pony, and if he makes him- 
self a stick, he, too, can join in. ‘The stick is quite easily 
manufactured, its shape being that of an English hockey 
stick, but with a longer handle. By making this and the 
striking end of two pieces, and letting the former into the 
latter, a rude splice is obtained. Rules for play there would 
seem to be none. If your opponent gets in your way, ride 
him down. If only six players have come, three a side will 
do, if ten players turn up, two fives make an equally good game. 
Although play can last for as long as you like, the same poor 
miserable pony is used the whole time, and will hardly enjoy 
it as much as the English one is said to do. 

Now the play begins. The ball has been thrown into the 
centre of the course and four horsemen are trying to get it. 
A pig-tailed Ladaki has it, and is riding as hard as he can for 
his opponents’ goal. His hitting is beautifully clean, and the 
playing of the band announces a goal for his side. His 
enemies’ posts now become his own, which he has to defend. 
Now watch him carefully, for he will show you a pretty piece 
of play. He has dismounted, picked up the ball, and, remount- 
ing, takes both it and his stick in his right hand, then gallops 


National Pastimes & Sports Ess 


down the field as hard as he can. Reaching the half-way 
approximately, he throws up the ball, and, with the stick, 
which is still in the same hand, he hits the ball full and straight 
into the enemies’ goal. To do this at such a pace needs good 
horsemanship and a wonderfully steady eye and aim. Ends 
are changed again and the ball isin play. There goes a little 
fellow from Chushot on his very disreputable pony with 
saddle tied on none too firmly. The ball is rather beyond 
his ordinary reach, but what matter, for he has only to lean 
right out of his saddle, so that, if desired, he could almost 
touch the ground ; by this means he reaches the ball. There 
he goes again, but alas, this time his saddle will not stand the 
strain, swings round with him, and leaves him lying some- 
where beneath his pony. Listen to the roars of laughter 
which greet his performance. Now a Mohammedan from 
Leh has the ball. A good player that, but his shot has not 
been accurate, and instead of landing in between the goal- 
posts, it has gone straight into the crowd of spectators. 
“Was there a man dismayed?”’ Not one, for if anybody 
has been hurt, he is nursing his pain in secret. Thus the game 
goes on; it may be for an hour or even more. Scoring is high, 
for there is not much ground between the opposing goal-posts. 

During the summer months the British Joint Commissioner 
sometimes likes to play. To provide him with regular sport, 
a certain number of men from the village of Chushot are 
detailed to appear twice weekly and this is regarded as their 
share of forced labour. If they do not play well, a threat 
that no improvement in their style will spell the ordinary 
begar (forced labour) with its carrying of loads, soon mends 
matters. One year we were able to play a game of England 
versus Ladak. ‘Two “ Varsity ’’ men were shooting up here, 
and they, with the Commissioner and the Doctor, represented 
Britain. Ladak certainly put one of its strongest teams on the 
field. Difficulties soon arose for the visitors, for they were 
not able tothrow the ball up and hit it while riding even at a 


156 National Pastimes & Sports 


slow trot. One alternative only remained: No. 1 had to 
drop the ball at the mid-line, whilst No. 2 who was riding 
immediately behind was expected to hit it. During the first 
half the European combination did wonders, and at half 
time were leading by four goals, but this put the home team 
on its mettle, and they gradually caught up. ‘Time, however, 
was in favour of the visitors, who won their game by one goal. 
Will such a match ever be played again? 

Next let us go to the bazar and watch the horse-racing. 
This peculiar species of horse-racing is quite in keeping with 
this quaint country. We take up our positions on the 
verandah of the post office.» At the further end of the bazar 
about thirty ponies and their jockeys are gathered. First 
along the course comes a rider decked out in the most wonder- 
ful garments. His dress is a beautifully embroidered Chinese 
mandarin’s robe and the insignia of his office is a tigerskin 
tunic. On his head he wears a large round hat covered with 
gilt tinsel, the crown rising to a dome, surmounted by a knob 
to which streamers of gilt tinsel passing from the brim are 
attached. ‘This is quite a personage, who assumes the title 
of glabdag, which means one to whom the gods are subject. 
The office boasts a long lineage and is traceable to pre-Buddhist 
times. Its representative is always chosen from one of three 
families, and his duty is to serve the King personally, one 
especial task being to change the pencil cedar on His Majesty’s 
altar on New Year’s day. When he rides ahead of all the 
jockeys, he 1s acting as his King’s Viceroy. Having led the 
way, the race can begin, but’a starter is quite unnecessary. 
Each man starts off just when he likes and simply tears down 
the bazar as hard as his pony will carry him ; though they often 
elect to start in a bunch, there seems to be no purposeful 
relationship between them, and odd ones left far behind carry 
on with equal zest. Needless to say bookies are unnecessary. 
Sometimes a wag will add to the delight of the spectators by 
performing gymnastic feats as he rides, possibly having dressed 


National Pastimes & Sports LY 


up to enhance the exhibition, which is loudly applauded. 
When all have ridden the course, they canter back and 
repeat from the beginning. This goes on for two or 
three days, and Ladakis find it interesting to the end. Some- 
times the amusement becomes intense, when, for instance, a 
horse has shed his rider, because the saddle had not been 
fixed on firmly, and the racer finishes his course with empty 
back. 

Games on horseback are most desirable at this altitude, 
where human lungs find scarcely enough oxygen for strenuous 
exertion, and Ladak is adding a Yarkandi equestrian game to 
its repertoire. No sides are picked, but there is a goal. A 
dead sheep is thrown on to the ground. At one time no 
doubt they played with a live animal, for Yarkandis do not 
think much about “ Prevention of Cruelty to Animals” 
Societies. A man catches up the sheep as best he can and then 
rides with it for the goal. If he accomplishes this, he may look 
forward to many a big supper of mutton, but all the other 
horsemen try to make this impossible. ‘The falls, pullings, 
and pushings this piece of mutton gets, should go far to make 
it tender, whatever its age may be. 

Another sport which the Ladakis thoroughly enjoy is arrow 
shooting. This always takes place in the spring, just before 
the fields are sown, the Mohammedans and the Buddhists 
having each their own archery meeting. A garden or an 
enclosure with trees round an open space is chosen, at one 
end of which a heap of earth is piled up about four feet high. 
Into the centre of this is stuck a bull’s-eye, about the size of a 
china plate and made of white clay. At the opposite end, 
about twenty yards from the target, are several tents, nicely 
decorated, in which sit those members of their respective 
community, who, by subscribing towards the shoot, have 
bought themselves the right to be present and take part. 
Others may join in, but are there on sufferance, and if they 
have not paid, even superb shooting will not obtain th 


158 National Pastimes & Sports 


applause of either the band or the onlookers. Is it necessary 
to say that the inevitable band is there also? ‘The shooting 
begins. An archer takes up his position, draws his bow, his 
friends encouraging him by calling : “* Shok, shok, shok, shok, 
shok, shok, shok,” and continuing to do so until the shaft has 
flown. Should it break the clay, the band strikes up and is 
rewarded with a backsheesh, whilst the archer has a salutation 
scarf thrown round his neck. Ifan enemy should be shooting, 
he can be discouraged by shouting :—“‘Kyor, kyor, kyor,” which 
means “‘miss.”’ All having loosed their arrows, of which each 
man shoots three, they retire for refreshments and conversation, 
whilst the arrows are fetched back. ‘This competition also 
lasts three days, during which Leh is not allowed to forget it, 
for the continuous beating of the kettle-drums is constantly 
inviting more spectators to the show. 

In concluding this chapter we would like to refer to some 
of the sport which the white man enjoys in this country. A 
certain number of shooting licences are given every year, 
namely twenty for the first half of the year and twenty for the 
second. These are generally used by Army officers, men of the 
finest stamp. It is only the “ stern strong souls, who love the 
wild,”’ who would face the biting winds which howl across 
these upland plains, who would put up with the loneliness, 
and often the bad cooking and limited supplies, which shooting 
there entails, and who would follow their quarry even to 
17,000 feet, though already lungs are working at bursting 
point. ‘To have to shoot immediately after such a climb, 
when one is still breathing hard, the heart working at about 
one hundred and twenty to the minute, and the hands shaking 
from exertion, 1s no easy matter. And yet it is worth it all. 
Is there anything on God’s earth more thrilling than a few 
days up in His hills with a good rifle in one’s hands and a 
splendid animal to be stalked ? It seems such a pity that the 
expense makes this almost prohibitive for our younger 
officers, for surely such a holiday must make them fitter for 


C—O 7 


National Pastimes & Sports 159 


the service than a continuous whirl of social functions in some 
Indian hill-station. One thinks wistfully of two “ subs.” 
who had saved up for such a holiday, one of them being the 
son of a man who had shot up here years ago, when he himself 
was in the Indian Army. But, alas, having reached Leh, 
they found they had only sufficient money to get back to their 
station, and had to give up the idea of shooting. Of wild 
sheep we have several kinds, most of them having splendid 
horns. It is said that these are so heavy that eventually their 
owners die of starvation, as they get too feeble to carry them 
and go in search of food. 

To begin with, we have the Sharpu, which live on the lower 
hills and during the winter come right down into the fields. 
Out shooting one day, my shikari, a Ladaki hunter, and | 
spotted five of these animals on a hill opposite to us, and 
soon after noticed a couple of wolves stalking them. I got 
within five yards of the latter, as they lay waiting behind a 
rock. By the time I had jumped off my pony and had loaded 
my gun, they had got quite out of range, although they seemed 
to be slinking away quite slowly. We then watched the 
Sharpu, and to our surprise they came clean across the valley 
to the very spot where the wolves had been waiting for them, 
and passed within ten yards of us, even stopping to look at us. 
Needless to say they were does, and ladies one does not shoot. 
Large numbers of these must be killed by other predatory 
animals. Another time we found a Sharpu with horns of 
thirty inches, which had only just been brought down by a 
snow-leopard. At last I hoped to get one of the latter, 
which are fairly plentiful, though as yet I had never met one. 
But, alas, he got wind, and evaded me. ‘The Ladakis hate 
these snow-leopards for they do much harm to their flocks. 
In order to catch them, they dig deep holes in the ground and 
build overhanging walls round. ‘They then put down the 
sheep, whose bleating attracts the leopard. Having jumped 
in, he cannot negotiate the overhanging wall and meets an 


160 National Pastimes & Sports 


ignoble death from stoning. ‘The Ladakis assert that once 
down he is so scared that he does not attempt to kill the sheep, 
but this may be no truer than the statement that they hate 
them so much that they skin them alive. The people also 
make a very useful wolf-trap. One end of a large rock is 
balanced on a stick, to which they tie a piece of meat. A pull 
on this brings the stone down on the animal’s head. On the 
higher hills the burrhel can be found grazing sometimes in herds 
of fifty to a hundred. These seem to have as many lives as a cat, 
for on two occasions | have hit them, brought them rolling down 
the hill, but on approaching to gloat over my kill, they have 
calmly got up and walked off. After this, I learnt not to 
unload until my foot rested on the dead body of my victim. 
Much higher up one finds the Ovis Ammon, a magnificent 
animal, whose horns at the base measure about eighteen inches 
in girth, and whose length is about fifty inches when full- 
erown. The Ibex, a kind of goat, prefers the rockier regions 
and, although the Ladaki Ibex is not as fine as that from 
Baltistan, yet even he can boast of horns some forty inches 
long. Right on the uplands towards Tibet, one can also get 


antelope, with beautifully slender, graceful horns, which at — 


their ends curl forwards, not backwards. At one time it © 
was possible to shoot the wild yak, but, even were he not — 


almost extinct now, it would not be permissible to shoot him in 
the state of a Hindu Maharajah. It is surprising how these 
various animals keep to their own grazing grounds, and the 


native hunter, who is the gillie of Ladak, knows exactly on — 
which slopes the various animals may be found. ‘These gillies | 


are remarkable for the way in which they can tell you the length — 


of a horn to an inch or two, even at two hundred to three 
hundred yards. This is an essential qualification, for one 
is not allowed to shoot an animal unless his horns have reached 


acertainlength. During the winter small game aboundsalmost 
everywhere. On the rocks pigeons are plentiful, and twice — 


——————EE~E 


I have killed thirteen pigeons—a lucky number this time— _ 


National Pastimes & Sports 161 


with my two barrels. On the sandy hill-sides one hears the 
clucking of partridges, and the creeks of the Indus abound with 
ducks. Among the snows are the snow cocks, and in the 
desert the hares. One day | had just raised my gun to shoot 
one of these, when, before I could pull the trigger, an eagle 
swooped down, caught him in his talons and soared away. 
It was a wonderful sight to watch him fly majestically with his 
prey right across the valley to his eyrie high up the mountain 
on the other side. His impudence had so nonplussed me that 
I had not pulled the trigger. 

Thus the varied interest of the wild life in the mountains 
is never exhausted, and the remembrance of these happy days 
spent so close up to nature will always recall an experience 
which must closely approach “ the top of the fulness of life.”’ 


CHAPTER XVI 
Merit & its Acquisition 


ODNAM or Gewa, both of which mean merit, are 
perhaps the two religious expressions most commonly 
used by the people of Ladak. It has been said that 
‘the acquisition of merit is the controlling motive for 

most of the religious acts of the average Buddhist.’’ ‘This is 
perfectly true of Lamaism. How one gets to dislike the word 
merit, which is so absolutely the expression of utter and 
complete selfishness. ‘The Ladaki simply does not believe in 
disinterested, unselfish action. ‘True compassion is prac- 
tically unknown. ‘The cup of cold water is not given to 
quench the brother’s thirst but to gain a reward. But 
whence does the Buddhist of Little Tibet get his idea of 
merit ? Can it be from the Buddha, whose life was one of 
the most beautiful ever lived ? ‘This seems unlikely ; in fact 
we are informed that he actually taught the utter uselessness 
of any action performed for the sake of obtaining merit, 
which thereby only defeats its own ends. Consciously he 
did not preach this appalling doctrine, and yet is it not an 
outcome of his teachings? ‘This is not a treatise on Buddhist 
philosophy, and yet it is necessary to have a general idea of 
Gautama’s teaching to be able to understand some part of the 
Ladaki’s religious belief. To begin with it must be stated 
that it is very difficult to know what the Buddha really did 
teach, for the Pali writings are none too authentic, but there 
is no doubt that he connected all sorrow and trouble, sickness 
and death, with material existence, which he regarded as an 


illusion, and longed, not only for himself, but for all his 
162 


Merit & its Aquisition 163 


brothers and sisters, the bliss of deliverance which comes 
through the atrophy of personality. His views are well 
summed up in the four noble truths which he is said to have 
taught. 

(1) Life is suffering. 

(2) Life is the result of desire. 

(3) Cessation of desire ends the life of suffering. 

(4) Cessation of desire is attained by following the 

eightfold path. 

What is the eightfold path? It consists of right belief ; 
right aspirations; right speech; right actions; right 
livelihood ;_ right effort; right mindfulness, and right 
contemplation. By what means can the Buddhist walk 
along these paths? By carrying out the Buddha’s five com- 
mandments :— 

(1) Do not kill. 

(2) Do not steal. 

(3) Do not commit adultery. 

(4) Do not speak untruth. 

(5) Do not taste intoxicating drinks. 
This in a nutshell was Buddha’s teaching, and, by the keeping 
of this law, he promised mankind that they would attain 
Nirvana, which is a state of unconscious bliss, when a personal 
existence is over and done with, and the liberated soul is at 
one and in harmony with the all-pervading. To attain this 
state, which the Ladaki calls “ Stongpa nid,” meaning 
“empty spirit,” the soul has to work its way by re-incarnation 
through various existences of which there are six, until the 
balance of good actions over bad is so immense that the soul 
finds emancipation. Therefore every Buddhist takes 
such infinite pains to increase the credit side with good actions 
in order to obtain merit. Although all adherents of this 
religion do not admit it, yet most authorities agree that 
Gautama taught that no outside aid availed. Each man 
must work out his own salvation with fear and trembling. 

L2 


164 Merit & its Aquisition 


The Southern school of Buddhism, called Hinayana (the small 
vehicle, for only the few can expect to reach Nirvana), still 
believes this, but the time came when a split occurred, and as 
a result Northern Buddhism or Mahayana Buddhism arose. 
“The Buddhist cannot rid himself of the feeling that if there 
are consequences of deeds to be borne, there must be someone 
_ to bear them.” For ordinary men and women the gospel of 
Buddha was only a message of despair, for the bands which 
bound them to the Wheel of Existence were far too tight for 
them to loosen. ‘This need of the human heart for a Saviour 
resulted in the Mahayana doctrine, so-called because it means 
the greater vehicle or means by which every Buddhist may 
hope one day to attain the bliss of Nirvana. First Buddha 
himself was regarded as this Saviour, and later others were 
ranked with him to help struggling humanity towards the 
final goal. The Buddha had the perfect right to enter a well- 
earned Nirvana, but compassion for men and women, beasts 
and demons, made him renounce this until he had aided all 
things living to enter this same bliss with him. ‘Thus arose 
the beautiful story of Avolakita, the all-merciful one, the all- 
pitying one, to which we shall refer later and of whom the 
Dalai Lama is the living representative. Unfortunately this 
new doctrine also opened the door to all sorts of national gods 
and demons which Buddhism encountered in its spread, for 
now, at about the end of the first century, Buddhism became 
a thoroughly missionary religion, carrying this good news of 
possible redemption far and wide. It reached Tibet about 
the middle of the 7th century, where it found the old Box 
Chos, which was a Shamanistic devil-dancing religion. ‘The 
followers of the new faith having subdued those of the old, 
then incorporated much of the old religion in their own, thus 
producing Lamaism. ‘This consists therefore of a sub- 
stratum of real Buddhist philosophy understood by the few, 
and a large proportion of demonology which appeals to the 
unlearned masses. 


Merit & its Aquisition 165 


Let us now consider some of the ceremonial of the religion 
of these cheery folk, and to do this we cannot do better than 
take an evening stroll to Changspa, which is a suburb of Leh 
and was formerly a place of pilgrimage. Our path leads us 
between fields of wheat and barley, now ripe for the harvest. 
Here our way is blocked because some Zemindar (farmer) is 
directing the flow of the water into his crops. Further on we 
reach a larger stream over which we cross by means of step- 
ping stones. 

We meet an old grey-head emerging from the village, who 
evidently feels that he has reached the age when he should be 
thinking of his next incarnation, for he is not only vigorously 
turning his prayer-wheel, but mumbling away at his O ma 
ni pa dme hum’s. We stop to speak to him, for in this part 
of the world there is great friendliness. Our conversation 
by no means hinders his devotions, for he can still twirl his 
prayer-wheel, which with every turn is repeating hundreds of 
prayers for him, and in between his answers to us there are 
plenty of opportunities for saying his O ma ni pa dme hum’s. 

Being new to the country we perhaps try to ask him the 
meaning of his prayer, but generally he will reply that he has 
not the faintest idea, and most certainly will not give the 
translation one so often hears. ‘‘ Oh thou jewel in the Lotus 
bud.” If one regard the Jewel as the Divinity, and the lotus 
the body in which it resides, one surely approaches the teach- 
ing of the Buddha fairly closely. I have met only one or two 
Buddhist Ladakis willing to enlighten me in respect to this 
mantra, who said that the wheel of life, consists of six exist- 
ences, and this mantra with its six syllables closes the door of 
all these, thus providing an easy vehicle to “ STONGPA 
NID.” There are other mantra, but this beyond comparison 
is the favourite one, as it is that of Avolakita, the Merciful 
Lord, and it ensures an entrance into the Kingdom of 
Amitabha, the Sphere of Endless Light. The wheel must 
be turned in the direction in which the sun travels, that is of 


166 Merit & its Aquisition 


the hands of the clock, and not once or twice, but hundreds 
of times. ‘To make this as easy as possible a weight on a 
short chain is attached, whose momentum makes it only 
necessary for the slightest movement of the hand to keep the 
wheel in almost perpetual motion. The number of Om ma 
ni pa dme hum’s said need not to be counted, and yet it is 
good to know how much merit has been accumulated. Our 
old friend therefore carries in his other hand a rosary, which 
consists of one hundred and eight beads, usually red. ‘This 
figure is a sacred one, being a multiple of twelve which is the 
Buddhist unit and not the ten which we use. ‘To mark the 
beginning of this rosary three turquoises are strung together, 
doubtless representing ‘‘dGonmchog Sum,” the Trinity of 
Lamaistic Buddhism. 

But the rosary is useful in other ways also, for if only the 
beads to the right of the short chain are regarded as units, and 
those to the left as twelves, quite a useful counter on which to 
do one’s temporal arithmetic is provided. Leaving our 
elderly friend, we go past a short mani or prayer-wall, and then 
another round one. ‘These are about the height of a man, and 
may be of any length. Just outside Leh there are two with 
only a short space between, which cover about half a mile. 
The tops of these slope slightly upwards towards the middle, 
and are covered by innumerable flat stones on which pious 
monks have engraved still more innumerable Om ma-ni’s. 
To turn these prayers to good account, it is essential to pass 
the wall to one’s right; by walking thus along the Leh Mani 
Ringmo, which means the long Ma-ni wall, a good hundred 
thousand prayers are said, and your stage pony, being usually 
of the Buddhist persuasion, will see to it that you do your 
religious duty in this respect by taking you along the left 
side. Whenever the road reaches a prayer-wall, it divides to 
enclose it, so that the traveller’s prayers can avail in whichever 
direction his journey lies. In many of the larger prayer-walls 
there is a recess at one side containing a large tablet on which 


Merit & its Aquisition 167 


the occasion of the building of the wall is engraved. We pass 
on to a little streamlet in the village, and find that over it a 
little mud hut, about the size of a large dog kennel, has been 
erected, which houses another prayer-wheel. On the axle of 
this, below the receptacle for prayers, are paddles on which 
the running water impinges and thus keeps the wheel in 
perpetual rotation. ‘The stream is often small, so that a light 
wheel is desirable, and what could be a better shell for enclos- 
ing the prayer paper than a Standard Oil kerosene tin, or a 
Mellin’s Food tin, both of which are actually used. 

The first house of the village belongs to the Kalon or 
former prime minister of Ladak, and in keeping with his 
exalted position, it is an imposing structure. On an outside 
wall we notice the skull of a goat, framed in small sticks tied 
together by twine, which is the Storma obtained at the New 
Year’s festival, and keeps those in the house insured against 
sickness. ‘The corners of the house have been painted a red 
colour, which effectually bars the entry of evil spirits. The 
Kalon does not seem to invite the good spirits to reside in his 
house, but others do. ‘They only have to paint all over their 
walls white sickle-shaped smudges, and their invitations to 
these /has will be accepted with alacrity. In the Kalon’s 
court-yard is a high pole, to which 1s attached a strip of thin 
muslin about twelve inches broad and running the length of 
the flagstaff, which is surmounted by the black bushy tail of 
the holy yak. On the flag are printed a great number of 
prayers, with crude drawings of Tiger, Lion, Garuda and 
Dragon, all being mystical signs ensuring safety against 
enemies, earthly and celestial, increasing the number of 
children and wealth, in short achieving the entire health and 
happiness of the household. ‘To set the necessary forces in 
action it only remains for the wind to flutter the flag on his 
roof. He also has a prayer-wheel which is so light that 
even the wind impinging on its vane will turn it. 

We pass along the rough village lanes and everywhere 


168 Merit & its Aquisition 


notice prayer-flags and chortens. Here there is a huge stone 
set up on end, on which has been engraven one large “ Om 
ma-ni,” and we might delay a few moments to examine it, 
especially the first and last syllables. The first one ““ OVA ”’ 
consists of three signs, representing again the Trinity of 
Lamaism. Its chief letter is the capital “‘ A” which stands 
for god. It should be written in white, as this is the colour 
of the gods. The whole is surmounted by a circle. Does 
the yellow cap lama desire to make his mind a perfect blank, 
he places this mystical symbol before his mind’s eye, meditates 
first on the ‘‘ A,” then on the “‘ V”’ which surmounts this, 
and finally it travels round and round the mystic circle losing 
itself in Stongpa nid, the idea being that by these means the 
activity of the brain can be stilled and the spirit become at one 
with the Infinite. The last syllable in the Mantra, Hung, is 
supposed to stand for the Demon world, and therefore it is 
not surprising that the red sect lamas, who represent most 
closely the old Boz chos with its demonology, should use this 
in a similar manner for their meditation. The colour of this 
symbol is blue. This mark sometimes ends as hung and 
sometimes as hum, and there seems to be a real difference, for 
a Buddhist friend has assured me that, whilst Aung is connected 
with evil influences, Aum produces only the good. 

We raise our eyes and see an enormous chorien, the largest 
in Ladak, another mystical edifice allowing several explan- 
ations. ‘These chortens are of eight different shapes, but of 
the most common form there are many sizes, ranging from 
small pocket editions, vulgarly called ‘“ potted lamas” for 
they are said to be made with the ashes of deceased monks, 
to structures larger than houses. From below upwards 
there is first a large square base, which is called the throne, 
on whole sides are painted figures of animals or holy eyes from 
which the throne derives its name, such as a Peacock or a 
Lion Throne. From this there rise five square steps, the 
lowest of which represents the holy carpet, for each lama sits 





I. MASKED DANCING 
In the monastery adjoining the castle of Leh at the winter festival of the New Year. 
2. A CHORTEN-CROWNED GATEWAY. 
These usually mark the entrance and exit of a village. 


3. A SACRED BANNER. 


The large banner of the tutelary god of Hemis?dGonpa (monastery), only displayed at the 
annual festival once in twelve years. 


Ape ee LLEMIS  OLREED 
Just before the festival, shewing the tents put up for the traders. 





Merit & its Aquisition 169 


onaholy carpet. Above this, two steps represent legs and two 
more arms. Then comes a large pudding-shaped arrangement 
to represent the head. The body seems to have been omitted. 
From this there rises a high cone made of red tiles and divided 
into thirteen rings; these are said to represent the thirteen ages 
(Skalpas, each of 100,000 years) of the Buddhist, of which 
the Ladakis say we are now living in the last ; this would 
make the present Dalai lama the last of this era. After this 
they begin again from the beginning. 

Others have a different interpretation for the Chortens. 
From the axis of the earth there towers up Mount Meru, 
which supports the heavens. This is said to have twenty- 
five steps, which halved gives approximately enough thirteen, 
and the thirteen consecutive rings of the chorten cone represent 
those steps belonging to the earth. Surmounting this cone 
there is a large gilt ornament made of tin or some such metal 
which denotes the Zarazak, or the Umbrella of Office. 
Above this comes a globe for the sun, a crescent for the moon 
and a smaller globe for the stars, from which there rises up into 
‘“‘nothingness’’ a fine piece of wire. Yet a totally different 
explanation is given according to which, reading from below 
upwards, the chorien represents the five elements, earth, water, 
fire, air, and ether. Round the great chorten at Changspa, 
there runs a passage, which is bounded on the outside by a 
wall consisting of one hundred and eight smaller chortens, 
again the mystic figure. Within this outer wall there stands 
a very old sacred tree and a small chorten, containing in a 
hollow recess the very small chortens made of the ashes of 
lamas and other men, also a few leaves from the holy book 
and some salutation scarves. Before entering into the 
passage, we notice a square building, in the upper part of 
which is a recess containing three chortens, which should be 
coloured respectively red, white and blue, and behind them 
drawings of various gods and goddesses. A little further on 
and to the right is a large stone with an image of Byamspa 


170 Merit & its Aquisition 
(Maitreya), the Buddha of the coming age who is the god of 


love for whom the Buddhist is now waiting. According to 
the esoteric teaching of Buddhism, there are seven root races 
of mankind, of which the present one, the Aryan, is the fifth. 
To each one of these a Buddha has come in human form so 
that man shall be able to comprehend the unknowable. Each 
of these emanations is a Logos of the supreme Buddha. 
Maitreya will be the Buddha of the sixth root race, and after 
him will come he of the seventh, whose name is still obscure, 
for the need of the seventh race which he will have specially 
to meet is also unknown. ‘Thus we get the septenary system, 
belief in which is found to be so universal. To agree with 
this figure the most important mantra should really read 
A-um-ma-ni-pa-dme-hum. As one wanders round this 
little village of Changspa, one cannot help remembering 
Shakespeare’s words, 

“Tongues in trees, 

Books in running brooks 


Sermons in stones 
And good in everything.” 


and wishing that the voices in this lamaistic land were living 
and spiritual rather than these mechanical and artificial forms 
of prayer, for to the ordinary man it is always a matter of chos 
choches, that is “doing religion,” engaging in a mechanical, 
outward and superstitious form which has no relation to the 
man’s spiritual life or to his moral conduct. 


CHAPTER XVII 
Rites €@ Ceremonies 


AVING considered general every-day methods of 
obtaining merit, let us turn our attention to the 
more specific and seasonal means, doing so in the 
order in which they occur annually. ‘This makes 

it necessary to say a few words about the Buddhist Calendar, 
which seems to have been derived from the Chinese, and con- 
sists of sixty-year cycles, which are subdivided into five periods 
of twelve years each. ‘The longer periods are named after 
the Buddhist elements of wood, fire, earth, iron and water, 
whilst the single years are called after various animals, such as 
mouse, ox, tiger or hare. The Ladaki does not therefore 
reckon his years in decades, but in dozens, so that when asked 
his age, he may inform you that, having been born in the 
sheep year of the water period, he must be three dozen and 
six year’s old. Their year consists of three hundred and sixty 
days divided into lunar months, which the word for month, 
zlaba, pronounced dawa, implies. As this does not quite 
fit with the course of the sun, the Ladaki feels that he must 
try to humour him and his aberrations, by dropping days here 
and adding months there. He certainly feels that the sun 
needs his aid at times, for when an eclipse occurs, he shouts 
at the top of his voice to scare off “the dragon from completely 
swallowing the sun.” ‘Their week, like ours, consists of 
seven days, which are devoted to deities similar to our own, 
such as Sunday and Monday to Sun and Moon. They have 
noticed that Mercury looks like a red eye, so Tuesday is 
called the day of the red eye. Wednesday is the day of 
17! 


172 Rites & Ceremonies 


Venus, whilst Thursday, the day of the dagger, must belong 
to the god of War. Jupiter and Saturn, even in Ladak, 
claim Friday and Saturday. The tenth day being the birth- 
day of Padma Sambhava, their patron saint, who conquered 
all their demons, is regarded as holy. 

The date of the new year varies, indeed in their topsy- 
turvy country they have two New Year days, one being the 
Ladaki, the other the Tibetan, both of which are celebrated, 
although for practical purposes the latter is used. The 
genesis of the Ladaki New Year is interesting. King Jamyang 
desired to wage war against the neighbouring kingdom of 
Purig, but was informed: by the horologist that his venture 
would not be successful unless deferred till after New 
Year’s day. Not wishing to wait, and no doubt thinking the 
stupid old sun would not notice, he decided that the New Year 
should begin two months earlier. His anniversary usually 
falls some time in December. It is chiefly marked by evening 
illuminations, for every Buddhist house has a row of tiny 
lamps, small wicks in little receptacles of oil, outlining either 
window-sill, verandah, or roof, or all three, according to the 
state of the family exchequer, for kerosene is an expensive 
commodity by the time the former is carried up to Leh; and 
of mustard oil and that expressed from apricot kernels there 
is very little. As most Tibetan villages are built in tiers up 
the hillside in order to leave the flatter terraces for cultivation, 
their rows of little lights give quite a fairyland effect. Domin- 
ating the whole in Leh is the fine old castle with its row of 
illuminations, while still higher are the twinkling lights round 
the crazy verandah of the ‘‘ Tsemo”’ or small monastery, 
perched on its high crags. ‘The official New Year occurs 
later, and its chief feature is the celebration of Dosmoche, the 
great festival of the Scapegoat. This ceremony varies in 
different localities. In Leh a huge erection is made of sticks, 
tied together by twine, and looking like a vastly over-rigged 
mast. ‘The component parts are prepared previously by the 


« 


Rites &° Ceremonies 173 


horologist, and, the day before, this strange ship of the wilder- 
ness is erected in the desert just outside Leh. 

At about 3 p.m. we wend our way through the bazar, now 
crowded with folk in holiday mood and holiday attire, and 
take up our position in the small room built over the toll-gate 
giving admission to the capital, and underneath which, 
the procession will pass. The firing of a gun announces that 
it has left the castle and is descending the hill, and soon we 
descry it turning into the further end of the main street, near 
the large Mohammedan mosque. Slowly it approaches us to 
the droning of shawms, the blowing of trumpets, clanging of 
cymbals, and beating of drums, all of which go to make up 
ecclesiastical music. Let us watch them as they pass beneath 
us. Heading the procession come four lamas in their clerical 
red garments, and with their funny yellow, peaked hats. 
These are blowing their flageolets ; after an interval they are 
followed by two or three laymen, who have the supposed 
honour of being allowed to carry the storma, but one cannot 
help noticing that the é4ze do not trouble to obtain this 
distinction for themselves. Szorma means a thing which is 
lost, and consists of efigies made in various sizes to represent 
men and demons. Again comes a group of lamas, dressed 
up in their fantastic devil-masks, and dancing as they move 
along. More laymen follow, bearing religious flags, and then 
there come four priests, blowing shawms so long that two 
small acolytes precede them, holding up the ends. Thus 
group after group passes through the gate till the celebrating 
abbot appears, to be followed by further priests and laymen 
carrying storma. Bringing up the rear are a number of 
Buddhist horsemen, prominent among them the King. He 
wears for this ceremony a special hat, which is an imitation 
of King Langdarma’s, from whom he claims descent and of 
whom he is said to be an incarnation. Langdarma belonged 
to the old Box Chos, and did his best to exterminate Buddhism 
in Tibet, positive proof of his demoniacal nature, of which 


174 Rites & Ceremonies 


the two horns which grew from his head were an outward 
and visible sign. It was to accommodate these he had to have 
this hat designed. 

The procession has now passed through the bazar, and we 
follow it out to the desert. ‘There the fires have been lit, 
illuminating the weird devil-dancing lamas as they gyrate and 
jump round them. At a given moment all the storma are 
thrown into the flames, and with their burning the sin and 
disease of the town are consumed. Soon after our first 
arrival in Leh, we witnessed these ceremonies, and, wishing 
in our ignorance to investigate the effigies, some were bought 
for a few pice (coppers) and brought to our houses. That yeara 
serious epidemic of throat disease broke out in the country, 
carrying off old and young. What else could be expected 
when the scapegoats had been brought back into the town 
instead of being thrown away? Now the erection of twigs 
is knocked over, and every man makes a mad rush to obtain 
even a small piece if he can, which is carried home in triumph 
and placed on one of the outer walls of the house, thus protect- 
ing its inmates from disease and death, or, if it is put into their 
store-room, much blessing will accrue to their grain. 

A little later a similar ceremony is performed for the 
special benefit of the Maharajah. Holy books having been 
read for seven days, a scapegoat, consisting of an effigy the 
size of a man, is prepared. Placed in the region of its heart 
is a bottle of red fluid, and it is then set up in the wilderness. 
A company of sepoys in smart khaki uniforms marches out 
behind lamas dressed in fantastic clothes and devil-masks, 
the combination quite belying Kipling’s statement that ‘‘ East 
is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet.” 
They take careful aim, even lying down to do so, but in spite 
of many rounds being fired, the efigy is never hit, and 
eventually cruder methods have to be adopted for its destruct- 


tion. ‘This cannot be wondered at, for is not the effigy 
bewitched ? 


Rites & Ceremonies Lys 


The idea of the scapegoat is practised in some form or 
other everywhere in Lesser and Greater Tibet. In some 
places an actual goat is sent into the wilderness. In others 
even a man is chosen, who for a whole year has to leave his 
village and live elsewhere, at the end of which time some other 
is chosen to bear the sin of the village. It is a fair assumption 
that formerly this sinbearer was put to death. 

Circumambulation, as every good Ladaki can demonstrate, 
is a splendid means of obtaining merit. Almost any religious 
object can be walked around. If there is no chorten, then 
walk round a temple containing some god. If you are getting 
old it is expedient to spend weary hours twirling your prayer- 
wheel, saying your Om mani’s, and walking round and round 
a mani wall. ‘Ten times round the great choriten at Jhangspa 
was the daily evensong of one picturesque, friendly old gentle- 
man we used to meet with his prayer-wheel and rosary. If 
you can get one or two friends to come along too, it is certainly 
not quite so lonesome, even though they have to walk behind, 
for one can intersperse one’s prayers with quite interesting 
snatches of conversation. ‘The month in which this is most 
beneficial is the first of the year, and the greatest merit of 
all is obtained by going round the T’semo, the monastery- 
crowned hill of Ladak, in whose chief temple resides a 
“ Byamspa’”’ god, so high that his head reaches into the 
second storey. This great aKorches (to round) 1s per- 
formed early in the year, by means of measuring your length 
the whole way along the route. Let us go into the desert 
to the south of Leh, where twenty to thirty young men are 
collected who have decided to perform this religious duty. 
They are drawn up in rows of twos or fours, about eight feet 
apart. Each man has tied round his waist a sheepskin apron, 
which hangs down over his knees. This both shields the 
knees from being cut, and good clothes from being torn. A 
low mumble begins, all saying the same phrase over and over 
again, which runs—‘ All living animals ask for Buddha’s 


176 Rites & Ceremonies 


great emancipation.” As the emphasis is always placed on 
the beginning of the mantra, the prayer resembles a pulsating 
series of sounds. At the same time each man places his © 
hands together in an attitude of prayer, and all simultaneously 
throw themselves on their knees, then on their chests, then 
reach out their arms as far as they can, make a mark in the 
sand or dust, jump up, place their feet on this mark, and then 
repeat the whole series of movements again; up and down, 
up and down, they go. After an hour or two they feel ready 
for refreshments. A nice spot is chosen where the devotees 
sit round in a circle, and to which lady friends bring tea, 
flour or chang, thereby themselves gaining merit also. The 
processionists have quite a merry session on these occasions, 
and will tell you with great virtue how much merit they are 
acquiring. In fact they are ready to break rank and have a 
little chat with the passer-by at the end of any series of move- 
ments. On resuming each man goes to the place where he 
left off, and again the prostrations are performed. If fortune 
smiles, the weather is good, but if not, their clothes are liable 
to get very dirty, for even a puddle of melted snow must not 
deflect the merit accumulator. From the desert the proces- 
sion proceeds through the bazar and the town of Leh, then over 
a small pass behind the Tsemo, and coming down the other 
side, ends up in the desert at the spot from whence they 
started. ‘The whole distance is about three miles, and it 
takes three days to be covered in this manner. ‘The physical 
strain must be tremendous, and only the fit could possibly 
perform it. One might expect these young fellows to look 
jaded and depressed, but on the contrary they are all quite 
cheery. 

There is, however, an easier method of obtaining merit for 
those not so strong. Stray old gentlemen, even a picturesque ~ 
old lady, single or in twos and threes, sometimes an ancient 
husband and wife, we have seen traversing the same round as 
those who are prostrating themselves, but doing so at an 


Rites & Ceremonies Pts 9 7 


ordinary walk, twirling their prayer-wheels and mumbling 
their Om mani’s as they go. Strange pathetic little humans 
they are, set in a vast panorama of snow-covered mountains 
with giant peaks soaring up into the silences of the clear blue 
sky, and often in this frosty winter time tramping out their 
tiny track on a universal white mantle of snow. ‘Then, too, 
above the temple which houses the “‘ Byamspa”’ and on the same 
Tsemo, is another with three other deities. Round this is a 
most shockingly rickety verandah, which looks as if it might 
tumble down at the slightest provocation, and no doubt will 
do so some day. I myself have walked round this in fear and 
trembling, but now there is a column of men and women, 
one close on the heels of the other, and round and round the 
temple they walk, some turning prayer-wheels, and others 
saying the Om mani. Round and round they go until we 
feel giddy watching them. Even from below, right down in 
Leh, they can be seen circulating round their giddy parapet. 

We now come to Spring, when everything is breaking out 
into fresh life. At this season the lamas of Sankar remain in 
their monastery for a whole month, during which special 
services are held. By this isolation they are deterred from 
taking life through stepping on insects as they pass along 
the roads. It is during this time that the service of making 
“Chos spun”’ is performed, which actually means the ‘‘ making 
of the brethren of the religion.”” Those wishing to join this 
fraternity fast one whole day, during which they are not 
allowed to swallow even their own saliva. Then each man 
throws into a receptacle some personal belonging. The 
officiating priest takes these out in twos, thus making their 
owners spiritual brethren, after which ceremony, if one of 
them makes a feast, he must invite his brother, or if there 1s 
a festival, they must send one another presents. 

A moveable ceremony is the celebration of the Buddhists’ 
High Mass. Its general likeness to our Christian service 


makes one wonder whether Tibetan Buddhism did not get its 
M 


178 Rites & Ceremonies 


ritual from Catholic missionaries, who formerly passed through 
Tibet or were working on the Chinese border of this now 
closed land. The rosary, the ecclesiastical vestments and 
mitred hats are also very suggestive of this. Their own 
explanation can be found in the following story. Raschung, 
the disciple of the great saint and singer, Milaraspa, was told 
by his master to fast for seven days, after which he was to go 
to the bazar where he would meet a Yogi of the name of Tipu, 
whom he would recognize by the fact that his face was blue, 
and his conjunctive red. He also would be wearing the skin 
of a striped antelope, and would be holding his trumpet up 
towards heaven and blowing.it. Having found and identified 
him, Tipu prophesied to Raschung that he would die in 
fourteen days. When Raschung returned to Milaraspa with 
this sad news, his master informed him that he had sent him 
to Tipu as he was aware of this fact, but that if he fasted 
another week and then went to the goddess “ Ma chig grube 
rgyalmo,”’ she might be prevailed upon to prolong his life. 
Having followed out these instructions, the goddess inquired 
from him how much longer he wished to live. He answered 
‘ Until I myself feel I wish to die.” She granted his request, 
handing to him the secret of the mystical rites of prolonging 
life. He lived just as long again, and then departed from this 
existence when he was eighty-eight years, and at the same age 
as his master, Milaraspa, died. It is said that these rites 
have been handed down since then by a regular episcopal 
succession, the names of those succeeding being actually 
given. 

The auspicious day having been decided on by the Oxpo, 
there is to be a celebration in the compound next to our house, 
so we will go to watch it. Along the length of the private 
dwelling, which was built recently with a view to religious 
ceremonies taking place there, runs a verandah raised about 
five feet above the court-yard in front. In the centre sits the 
Skushog on cushions behind a low ornamented table, on which 


Rites & Ceremonies 179 


is placed at his right hand the holy pot containing the peacock 
feathers, in front of him the Dorjhe (thunderbolt) and 
bell, and to his left a bowl containing rice. Behind him and 
to the left is an altar, which is erected in the form of a pyramid 
by means of steps, on each of which there are a great number 
of brass bowls containing offerings of butter, rice and water. 
On the top is an image, most likely that of the tutelary deity 
of the presiding Skushog. In the immediate vicinity of the 
celebrating lama other priests are present to assist. Behind 
these on either side sit the more prominent Buddhist laymen 
of the town, all with heads reverently uncovered. In the 
court-yard below the verandah, the poorer worshippers are 
sitting on the ground, with the men generally in front. On 
inquiry we are told that the celebrating priest has carefully 
prepared himself for this ceremony. For twenty-four hours 
he has sat alone in meditation, and, by means of the repetition 
of many prayers has purified himself from all his sins. While 
doing this he has the T'sebum, or “‘Vase of Life,” in front of him. 
He suddenly sees the /ha (the god) enter it and says Da drub 
tsar—‘ Now it is fulfilled.” He then dons his ceremonial 
hat and comes out to the congregation in order to distribute 
life to those present. The service begins with the 
reading of the holy books, by the Skushog, who holds in his 
right hand the bell, which he rings at appropriate moments 
and in his left the Dorjhe, which he turns, whilst the lamas 
respond every now and again in a sing-song tone of voice, 
blowing their shawms and clashing their cymbals. The 
elements are now distributed. In front, walks the Skushog 
with the ‘‘ Vase of Life’ in his hands. Passing along each 
row, he touches each worshipper’s head with it. Behind him 
follows a priest with the ‘‘ Wine of Life,” of which he pours 
a small quantity into the cupped hands of each communicant. 
This is carried reverently to the forehead and to each eye in 
turn and finally to the mouth to be drunk. The wine 


is actually only made of water, coloured with saffron 
M 2 


180 Rites & Ceremonies 


and sweetened with sugar. This distributed, the bread, or 
‘ Balls of Life,” are administered from a large dish. ‘These 
are made of barley-flour, and not only does the participant 
receive one for himself, but he may obtain sufficient balls for 
those members of his family who were unable to attend. Now 
the Skushog ties a srungdud (Keeping knot), and gives one 
to each person present. He takes a small piece of rag, 
coloured red or green, makes it into a knot, breathing on it 
the while. ‘This is then attached to the hat and preserves the 
the wearer from disease and death. Finally comes the 
collection, the worshippers filing past and presenting the 
Skushog with salutation scarves, and money. 


CHAPTER XVIII 
The Crises of Life 


N every country the crises of life—birth, marriage and 
death—are associated with ceremonies which are full 
of interesting customs. In busy England, where time 
is scarce, the wedding day is full of pleasant incidents, 

and even the funeral day is made impressive. Here, where 
time is plentiful, these two functions can be drawn out to last 
a week or more, but it 1s necessary to arrange that they shall 
not fall in those seasons when field work demands the energy 
of all those members of the household who can help. 

Let us follow a Ladaki through life, watching him as his 
turn comes to be the leading personage in these important 
ceremonies. 

Birth here, as in other countries, imposes a number of 
taboos, not only on the mother, but also on the father, the 
chief of these being that neither must go into cultivated 
fields for a whole month, though the main-roads are not for- 
bidden them. Nor may the mother touch any of the utensils 
for cooking. Soon after the birth of a child,a near male 
relative comes to the house and into a pot filled with barley he 
implants an arrow, which brings much luck to the new arrival 
throughout life. As in ordinary illness the Ladaki thinks it 
is dangerous to let the patient fall asleep, so sometimes we 
meet poor mothers, who, fatigued after the strenuous duty 
of childbirth, are not allowed to recuperate themselves in 
slumber. As we write these lines, we have a patient who was 


made to get up the day after her first-born son had arrived, 
181 


182 The Crises of Life 


because she simply could not keep awake otherwise. At the 
end of a month the burning of incense purifies the mother, 
and she may again handle the culinary utensils, while the 
birth-feast is now celebrated, in which all the houses of the 
village should at least be represented. In Leh, however, 
with its 8,000 or more inhabitants, this would be almost an 
impossibility, so this like other ceremonies, has had to be 
modified. Thus, to see the real customs of the country one 
must go to the villages. Every guest brings with him to the 
feast a pot of barley-meal called Marzan. All the contributions 
are now mixed together,.and each lady present partakes of 
the joint dish. This is called the Dargang. ‘The Ming tagches, 
which means the “‘ tying-on ”’ of a name, is postponed till a con- 
venient season, this being the coming of a Skushog, who is 
requested to select a suitable designation. Sometimes caution 
also calls for a postponement of the christening, for evil 
spirits are keen on boys, and the name may give away the 
sex. However, if necessary, one can camouflage this by “tying” 
a girl’s name on to a boy. Until the naming, a boy 1s called 
Brogpa, or his little sister Brogma, for what could be more 
ugly than these old Dardish descendants ? Evil spirits prefer 
pretty children, but would have no desire to carry off a 
Brogpa child ! Sometimes Ming tagches is quite omitted, and 
then this opprobrious appellation has to be borne throughout 
life. ‘Thoroughly to cheat these foolish spirits, it is a good 
plan to make the children look as hideous as their namesakes 
by drawing a dirty black mark across the forehead over the 
bridge to the tip of the nose. Sometimes it is necessary to 
push the delusion still further. The sad parents have lost 
three or four children, and how can they save their latest 
arrival P ‘They have already called it Brogpa and made it as 
hideous as one of these gentlemen, so now only one thing 
remains to be done—it must be sent to live with these dis- 
gusting people, and failing these, to a Mon blacksmith or 
musician. 


The Crises of Life 183 


At the end of two years the lad’s head is shaved, all except 
a piece of hair, which is the rudiment of his pigtail, and 
which is now carefully preserved, dressed and well-greased 
with butter; this being an occasion, it is celebrated 
gastronomically and no doubt alcoholically. 

We now come to the nuptial ceremonies, but it is quite 
unnecessary to wait for them till years of discretion have 
arrived, nor does Cupid have much to do with the wounding 
of Ladaki hearts, although even here there are occasions when 
the flight of his arrow is mortal. ‘The women of Ladak enjoy 
a perennial leap-year, for in this country it is as becoming 
for a woman to be the aggressor in matters of marriage as 
it isfor aman, and perhaps, in this respect, we are “‘the wrong 
way round ”’ after all. When the lady is the active party, the 
husband brought to her house is called a magpa, but if she 
is taken as a bride to his house, she is called a guama. The 
property belongs to the active partner, irrespective of sex. 

Three methods of getting married are sanctioned by 
custom. The first has of necessity fallen into disuse since the 
Ladakis were conquered by the Dogras. It was the prerogative 
of any rajah or ruler, who wished to reward a man for services 
rendered, to grant him the power of choosing any girl he 
liked in the country as his bride. ‘Thus a man of low degree 
could aspire to the hand of a great lady. 

The second method is frankly to steal the chosen partner. 
The selection having been made, only relatives are admitted 
into the secret. No big wedding-feast is prepared, just a small 
one is made where the native beer or chang alone is unlimited. 
Grand wedding-garments are not permissible, and the actual 
ceremony is very simple, consisting merely in the bride and 
bridegroom each donning a very small white head-dress, 
called the mgo ras, while there are no religious rites. ‘The 
gnama or magpa, as the case may be, has to say “* zhu-le”’ to 
everybody, friend or no friend, hence the proverb: “ The 
bridegroom or bride must say ‘ zhu’ even to the cat or dog.”’ 


184 The Crises of Life 


The next day.a deputation must go to the house from which 
the passive partner was stolen to say “zhu.” ‘They are 
accompanied by a rhetorician, and take with them some Jars 
of beer, some bread, tea, butter and a salutation-scarf. If 
the parents are amenable to the transaction they accept the 
presents, and receive the deputation ; but if they object to 
the alliance, the welcome of these representatives is all too 
warm—they are ejected with kicks and blows, while the parents 
and their supporters go to the temporary home of their child, 
try to wreck it, and recover the stolen one by force. Hence 
another proverb says: “‘ The parents are their children’s 
judges.”’ The causes which precipitate such a stolen marriage 
are (1) absolute inability to afford the orthodox nuptials ; 
(2) temporary financial disability, as at any future time the 
arrangement may be ratified with full ceremonials ; and 
(3) if the desired partner is betrothed to someone else, to 
secure him or her by theft ; (4) if the Ozpo’s date does not 
satisfy the couple, they marry on, their own day, and have the 
official rites on his. 

Lastly there is the orthodox wedding with all its attendant 
ceremonies. For this neither parents nor child must decide 
on their choice before they have consulted the Onupo. To this 
gentleman they tell the name and date of birth of the prospec- 
tive mate, and can only proceed if he declares, after searching 
his books, that year and person are auspicious. Lamas, as a 
rule, do not provide this information. The marriage may 
take place when the children are very young, but it is not 
consummated till after they are twelve, and, even at this 
tender age, little Ladaki girls sometimes become mothers. 
Thus the Ladaki parents have to think about the future 
alliance when the child is still young ; as their proverb says: 
‘‘ The difficulty of the father is to get a wife for his son.” 

Let us follow this father in his difficult path, supposing 
the child for whom he wishes to find a mate is a son. The 
first overtures are made by a third party, who must never go 


ach Se i! 
SREP i tt aw tents saint 





A BIRTHDAY ENTERTAINMENT. 


Women dancing at an entertainment in Leh. The gesture indicates the plucking of a flower. 


MEN DANCERS AT A WEDDING. 


Resting between their performances. At the extreme left of the front row is the bridegroom, 
while the gentlemen in the upper row to the left with peculiar turnover hats are his uncles. 





The Crises of Life 185 


to the house of the bride-elect empty-handed, and the fateful 
day on which he sets out must be decided by the Onpo. If 
the young lady’s parents receive him favourably, more beer 
must be sent on several occasions, and a series of preliminary 
feasts, whose principal feature is beer drinking, is inaugurated. 
The first of these, called ho/chan, is only a small affair, but marks 
a definite betrothal. Subsequently more chang must be taken 
for the consumption of the relatives of the future bride, and 
at this feast or nyenchang (relation beer), it is decided what 
presents in kind and in cash these people must be given. 
The money present is said to be in payment of Nature’s pro- 
vision through the mother for the bride’s first earthly nourish- 
ment! It may vary from Rs1s to Rs45, while the other 
presents include twenty-five to forty-five measures of chang 
(600-1,000 quarts), also tea, butter, p’adings (the local dried 
apricots), meat, rice, and salutation scarves. 

The next feast is called the trabschang (conference beer), 
and its occasion is the assembly of all the relatives and friends 
some weeks before the wedding to decide upon and to dis- 
tribute the responsibility of giving the various articles needed 
for the actual wedding-feast, such as the provision by the 
uncle of the bride of the drangrgyas, or cake, round which the 
dances will take place, and all the details of serving the courses 
are arranged. The menu includes the following courses : 
(1) Tea ; (2) a mixture of wholemeal flour, butter and dried 
curds, sugar, and tea ; (3) p’adings and breads ; (4) meat and 
a mixture of flour and water called Boldra; (5) beer ; 
(6) nanchang or very strong beer, of which each partaker 1s 
obliged to drink one whole measure, which makes them 
thoroughly intoxicated ; (7) zi/chang, another kind of beer ; 
(8) rice. 

Nyobjhol is the procedure of fetching the bride (or bride- 
groom). Those who carry this out are called xyopas, and 
their official costume consists of beautiful silk dresses, and 
high-crowned, gilt hats. Their number varies from five to 


186 The Crises of Life 


eleven, and they set out early in the morning carrying beer. 
On their way to the bride’s house, they may meet people 
with beer-pots, around the rims of which are many little 
pyramids of butter (ka/ chor), and reciprocal generosity 
supplies all parties with a further opportunity to indulge in 
“the cup that cheers.’”’ They will also find on their road 
about eighty pyramids of small stones set up, at each of 
which the leader must make a special speech, and, in the 
event of his forgetting one or more of these, he must pay 
some fine. He delivers them in answer to the questions put 
by a man who is a member of the bride’s household. Quite 
near the house is a flag-staff bearing a flag of five colours, 
and above it the outline of a bird, while a stick has been 
hidden in the earth somewhere in front of the door. The 
leader of the xyopas has to find this by means of pacing. At 
the door they meet the relatives and friends bearing sticks, 
also the money and goods decided upon at the xyenchang. 
If all promises are paid up, the parties are admitted, but 
any defaulters are beaten with sticks. Throughout this pro- 
cedure a boy and a girl (spawo and spamo) burn incense. 

The xyopas now enter the house, and have three dances 
in the living-room, where they are provided with a menu 
similar to the foregoing one, after partaking of which they 
proceed outside, where a large crowd of onlookers will have 
collected, and dance round an erection of bread arranged 
round a central corpse of meat, flanked by two large pots of 
chang. ‘The dancing includes that by the spamo, who dons 
the bride’s dresses, thus exhibiting the trousseau. In the 
evening the bread is shared out according to the contract made 
beforehand, the distributor being a member of the house of 
the bridegroom, whose badge of office is a silk cloth wrapped 
round his third finger. He is called a paspun, and performs 
this duty for all the members of his clan, who possess the 
same god and the same vows. 

Now comes the time for giving the wedding-presents, and 


The Crises of Life 187 


all go indoors and spend the time dancing until the fateful 
hour foretold by the Ozpo arrives, when the actual marriage 
takes place, and the bride appears. A scribe is present to 
write down everything which is taken away by the bride in 
case of a divorce. He, the friends, and the hairdressers will 
receive presents from the father or uncle. The hair of the 
bride (or bridegroom) has to be dressed that same evening, 
and she now puts on a white head-dress, the wearing of which 
is the actual wedding rite. Her dress is usually an ancient 
one, which goes from house to house. She comes into the 
living-room, and sits on a carpet on which the sign of 
gyung-drung (the Swastika) has been made in barley. Across 
the room a rope is stretched on which the father and mother 
place the clothes, while on the floor are the pots and pans 
which they are giving their daughter. The lamas now 
arrive to perform the yangkuk ceremonies (yang means blessing, 
kuk calling forth), so that the daughter may not take away 
with her the blessing of the house. The xyopas present each 
lama with a piece of cloth, which the latter place on their 
heads ; to the girl’s parents they have'to give a salutation- 
scarf, and to her relatives small pieces of white cloth. After 
this ceremony, the lamas leave, and now the parents of the 
bride also present her with salutation-scarves, which is a duty 
of each relative also. The bride then weeps copiously, and 
lauds all that has been done for her during her life. The 
leader of the xyopas now takes her into the small temple or 
private chapel of the house to say a last good-bye, for after 
this day she may never again enter this temple, having married 
into another paspun (clan). She is then taken on a pony to 
her new home by the zyopas, and this happens about midnight, 
for, if the bride be taken away by day, a fine has to be paid 
either to the King or to the neighbouring monastery. Before 
starting, the father and uncle of the bridegroom once more 
enter the house, and, again presenting salutation scarves and 
a small sum of money, thank the parents for the gift of the 


188 The Crises of Life 


bride. Before arriving at her future home, the bride and her 
escort are met by lamas who perform the service of Gyagsrod, 
that is, the driving away of any evil spirits which may have 
chosen to accompany the bride, and whose presence is not 
desired in her new abode. For this purpose the members 
of the future home have sent a new unused pot filled with 
dregs, which the lamas, after preliminary incantations, break, 
and with it throw away a storma or strewing oblation. 

The lamas now enter the bridegroom’s house, and the leader 
of the zyopas follows with the bride. Her new mother-in-law 
comes to meet her on the threshold of the living-room, 
bringing a plate on which is a present reposing on some 
barley, which latter serves to enhance the apparent size of 
the former. This plate is given to the bride’s-maid, or spamo, 
but before receiving it, the bride must salute her new mother, 
who reciprocates the greeting. The mother then leads her 
into the living-room, where, if she is only to marry one boy, 
she finds him sitting on a carpet, bearing the mystic sign 
and wearing the white head-dress; but if the brothers are also 
included, they all sit similarly side by side, while near them 
is an empty carpet for her, upon which is the sign “‘ zor bu gyas 
a kyil,” meaning “jewel.” 

When all, including the zyopas, are thus seated in a row, 
the bridegroom’s mother rises and salutes the zyopas in turn, 
after which the bride and bridegroom are taken into the 
store-room and given refreshments, the leader of the zyopas 
accompanying them. Their plates having been filled, the lead- 
ing nyopa removes their head-dresses, putting them on a plate. 
Then he says, ‘‘ Which is quicker, bride or bridegroom ?” 
at which challenge they compete with each other at snatching 
the food off their plates. In this little store-room the happy 
couple live for some days, and each of the near relatives 
brings them a small piece of the drangyas (cake) and presents. 
The zyopas spend the night dancing at the house, with only 
the shortest interval for sleep. 


The Crises of Life 189 


The next day there is dancing again in front of a crowd 
of spectators, and in the afternoon or evening of this day 
the bride also comes out to dance. If the bridegroom is only 
a magpa (that is, brought to the bride’s house), he has to dance 
with the zyopas all day long. On this day the feasting proceeds 
according to the aforesaid menu, which is the same in both 
houses, and in the evening the drangyas are divided up and 
distributed, those in the bride’s house being made of flour. 
Early in the morning of this day the bride and bridegroom 
have to go to salute the parents of the former, and the following 
night is again spent in dancing and feasting. ‘Throughout, 
the zyopas and relatives take food and drink to the wedding 
pair, who also are invited to meals by the cook, brewer, and 
keeper of the store-room respectively, and whose hospitality 
they must return, while they must not omit to give food and 
a jau (As 3+) per head to the dedas or bandsmen. This same 
evening the xyopas receive presents from the house, where 
dancing again takes place. 

The following day is called the xyendron (relative feast) of 
the bridegroom. If the guests invited by the bride amount 
to one hundred, at the bridegroom’s feast there will be one 
hundred and fifty visitors, such a proportion always being 
maintained. 

The next day is called the dronchung, to which only the 
nearest relatives come, while a final day’s feasting provides 
the servants with their turn, and so the festivities slowly wane. 

By custom, nobody is permitted to marry the relatives of 
either parents. Only on rare occasions very distant connec- 
tions are married, for instance, if they are removed three or 
four generations. This close relationship is called Részbma, 
indicating that they are of one rib, whereas the ordinary 
word for relation signifies “‘of one race.” In ancient times 
nobody was allowed to marry a personal relation unless 
removed by eight generations. 

If the happiness of the couple inaugurated with such 


Igo The Crises of Life 


gaiety does not stand the test of time, divorce can be obtained 
by payment of an animal. The Ladaki proverb thus states 
the situation : ‘ If the husband is turned out he can demand 
a pony, but the wife can expect a cow.” The horse and cow 
given need only be strong enough to walk round a dunghill. 
If one of the pair dies and was the owner of the house, the 
living partner is tied by a piece of string to the corpse of the 
other, and when the string is broken by pulling on it, the 
marriage-tie is also broken. Such means are only resorted to 
if the living partner wishes to leave the house, but he or she 
may remain if preferred. In the former case nothing need 
be paid on leaving the house, and the party’s own goods may 
be taken away also. Thus each takes his or her own property, 
and the one who was brought to the house must also pay for 
a large part of the wedding festivities. 

Obviously the easiest method of marrying is in stealing, 
after which it is also much easier to divorce. An additional 
advantage to the young people is that they may choose each 
other instead of being subject to their parents’ selection. 
Also little care is taken to preserve class. 

If the divorcée returns to her parents’ home, she is not 
allowed to enter her parents’ temple, and sometimes she is 
not even allowed to sit in front of their fire-place, because at 
marriage she joined another paspun. 

A man or woman may marry a second time, but there are 
no wedding festivities. Should the first wife bear her husband 
no children, he may takeasecond one or Chanchung. If possible 
she should be the younger sister of the first wife, if not, a 
cousin or near relation. If she produces no posterity, the 
husband must do without. The first wife retains priority of 
rank. even though the second becomes a mother. If a magpa 
and his bride have no children, a Chanchung is brought for 
the magpa, she being a near relative of the heiress. 

Before leaving the subject of marriage, we must say a 
little more about the customs of polyandry, as Ladak is one 


The Crises ‘of Life IQ 


of the few countries remaining where it still obtains. Various 
economical reasons have been urged for this unusual pro- 
cedure. The foremost is that it arose in order to keep down 
the population in a land where sustenance of the body is so 
hardly won from the dry soil, and the difficulty of transport 
necessitates any small community being self-contained. A 
second is that where the nomadic life prevailed, it was incon- 
venient to trail many women and children around. But a 
Ladaki himself will tell the questioner that the custom is of 
royal institution, and is for the stabilizing of property. If 
each of several sons possessed wife and family, how could 
they all be supported on one landhold ? Certainly the com- 
ponent parts, after dividing into three or more shares, would 
not be sufficient for any one family. This, therefore, is a 
different way of stating the first reason alleged, and the 
present method of tenure is much more economical. ‘The 
wife is brought for the elder son, and, as a matter of fact, only 
one more brother is likely to share the lady’s favours. The 
third son is probably given to the Church, and any more 
pass into other families as makpas. ‘The makpa leaves his 
father’s home and gods, as we have seen, adopts those of the 
heiress to whom he is wedded, and, when either of his parents 
dies, he is not allowed even to touch the corpse, though he 
may officiate fully in the case of the dead bodies of his bride’s 
parents. As our Buddhist serving-man put it : “ My daughter 
is of no profit to my corpse, save to say ‘Father, Father !’ 
and weep, and throw a little barley behind me, but she must 
not touch me.’’ So does the marriage tie really become firmer 
than the relation between parents and offspring. In upper 
Ladak, therefore, more than two brothers rarely share one 
wife, as it is impossible, practically, for more than that number 
to avoid quarrelling. If the eldest son approves of this second 
bridegroom, and thinks that they will be able to share their 
wife peaceably, the younger man is included in the wedding 
ceremony. The white head-dress is given to him also by the 


192 The Crises of Life 


chief bridegroom, and the marriage-tie is as binding on him 
as on his elder brother. In lower Ladak, however, where 
more of the men-folk are away from home trading or travelling, 
the link is said to be bearable between as many as five brothers. 
The house and the land and all the children belong to the 
eldest brother, whether the latter are his begetting or his 
brothers’, and the younger inherits all if the former pre- 
deceases him. Hence the word for uncle is always Aba 
Chungun, “‘ little father.” 

At length must come the time when the Ladaki’s “ silver 
cord is loosened,” and his “* golden bowl broken.”” He does 
not, however, believe that his spirit returns to God who gave 
it, but that it seeks a new habitation in one of the six existences, 
decided by the deeds done in the life just ended. Immediately 
the soul has set forth on this quest, the lama is hurriedly fetched 
to read from the holy books and pronounce various charms. 
The nearest relative must now break the corpse’s neck, thus 
setting free its spirit, and the body is then rolled up and 
tied into a ball as far as this is possible. It is then carried by 
one of the paspun into the family temple, or private chapel, 
of the house. Nobody but a paspun is ever allowed to touch 
the corpse, and if no male one exists, a woman has to perform 
this duty. A candle is now lit, and food and drink provided 
for the soul, which would suffer much during its search for 
a fresh tabernacle were it not alleviated by the sustenance 
thus prepared. This is done for about one month. An appeal 
is then made to the Oxpo, whose researches settle the date and 
even the time when cremation may be performed. In the 
meantime mourners attend the house, who join the family 
and their friends in bewailing the deceased with loud tones, 
and help them to consume much butter-tea and flour. Every 
newcomer provokes a fresh outburst of expression of sorrow. 
The nearest female relation puts on her oldest clothes, and 
shows her bereavement by looking as dishevelled and dirty 
as possible. 


¢ 


The Crises of Life 193 


The date of the funeral has arrived, and the brother of the 
departed must carry his corpse from the temple into the 
street. If there is no brother, his wife, assisted by a paspun, 
does this duty. Here the body is placed into a kind of box, 
which any man may now carry on his back to the burning- 
ghats out in the desert. The procession is formed by relatives, 
friends and lamas. The body is placed into an oven made 
of mud-bricks, consisting merely of four walls with an opening 
at the bottom into which the firewood is placed. The corpse 
is consumed to the reading of holy books, clashing of cymbals, 
and blowing of the flageolet, while butter, rice, water and 
barley are thrown into the consuming fire to provide sus- 
tenance for the soul of the departed. The cortége then 
returns home, where the dead man’s effects are given to the 
priests to reward them for their services. In the case of a 
woman, however, her ornaments go to her eldest daughter, 
if she has one; if not, the lamas may auction them and 
retain the money. Next morning a relative goes to inspect 
the ashes. If the footprints of a dog can be discerned in these, 
the deceased’s soul will speedily be re-incarnated. Some of 
these ashes are then made into a small idol of Buddha or a 
tiny Chorten by mixing with clay, and these are placed inside 
some large Chorten. Should the dead man belong to some 
opulent family, his relatives, having ascertained what would 
be a propitious holy banner, will have one prepared and hung 
up in the family temple. 

In Tibet proper the general method of disposing of. the 
dead is to expose the body, which has first been dismembered, 
to the vultures, or throw it to the fishes, or bury it. Cremation 
is reserved for priests or those of high rank. Here, in Lesser 
Tibet, however, most corpses are burnt. But even in their 
burial rites, these folk are the “ wrong way round,” for when 
cremation is most expedient, they bury. Has a man or woman 
died of infectious disease, his body is committed to the 
ground, to be disinterred and cremated about a year later. 

N 


194 The Crises of Life 


Two more exceptional methods of the disposal of the 
corpse remain. Ifa child dies, a brick is taken out of the 
living-room wall, its small body placed inside, and thus immured. 
A lama of high rank is said to be well salted first, and then 
placed inside a Chorten. This, however, has been vigorously 
denied. 

To conclude this chapter perhaps we may recount the 
following amusing story of how the people of Kyelang tried 
unsuccessfully to cheat the King of Death. An old lady was 
near dissolution, and, wishing to save her from the dread 
potentate, her relatives made an effigy of her, taking scrupulous 
care that this should be her exact size, then dressed it up in 
her clothes. A proper mourning with much wailing was then 
instituted, after which the effigy was carried out to the desert 
for cremation with full ceremonies. A man was then told 
off to return to the village shouting, ‘‘ This poor woman has 
now been dead nine days,” for which service he was rewarded 
with a pair of grass shoes. But, alas ! Death saw through the 
fraud, and took the dame as well. 


CHAPTER XIX 
Rajahs & Royalties 
LTHOUGH the glory has departed from the 


present scion of a long line of rulers, yet we must 
speak of the King, who, although only an ex-ex- 
King, is still regarded by the true Ladaki as his 
sovereign lord, for as he walks along the road, his subjects 
bare their heads and bend low, whilst he touches them in 
blessing, for not only is he king, but priest also. 
Let us, however, begin at the beginning and speak first of 
a dynasty of true Ladaki Kings, for although the present line 
has reigned for well-nigh a thousand years, yet even they are 
interlopers from the Central Tibetan Kingdom. In the 
monastery of Lamayuru, there is a record telling of how the 
upper part of the Indus valley was uninhabited desert, whilst 
in the lower dwelt the “ Brogpas,” who were continually 
fighting one another. At that time the site on which Lama- 
yuru now stands was a lake, proof of which we still have to-day 
in the large lacustrine deposits to be found there. It was 
just before the time of the Buddhist reformer, Atisa, that the 
great King Khri dPon bHag rDar Skyabs ruled, his kingdom 
extending from the Zogi La to the Kardong, and his son 
enlarged this territory by adding villages in Kashmir and a 
part of Lahoul. ‘This line of kings did much to civilize the 
country, and was the first to introduce Buddhism. It is 
regrettable that more is not known of these rulers. How 
their power waned and the Lha Chen dynasty from Central 
Tibet usurped their power has still to be elucidated. The 
195 N2 


196 Rajahs & Royalties 


first of these to rule in Lesser Tibet was Skyid Lde Nyima 
Gon, the great-grandson of the apostate King Langdarma. 
He took the reins of government about 950 a.p. The names 
of most of the kings of this dynasty include the word “ Lha 
Chen,” which means “ great god,” or “ King of Heaven,” 
and the Ladaki will explain how Langdarma counted among 
his forbears one who ruled in Central ‘Tibet about 300 B.c., 
and was descended through King Kesar from that Supreme 
Being. But who is this ancient King Kesar? Let us listen 
to one of the many wonderful stories extant of his mystical 
birth and heroic doings. _The tale was narrated by Zodpel, 
our Moravian Mission Hospital Compounder, anaesthetist, 
dresser, and nurse, as follows. 

Our great forefather sowed a tree, out of whose fruit grew 
worms which devoured each other till only one was left. It 
was transformed into a boy, who married eighteen girls, and 
these in turn became the respective mothers of eighteen 
heroes, around each of whom a wonderful story is woven. 
One of them aided the King of Heaven against the Demons, 
and in reward had his wish granted, namely that Dundrub, 
the son of the Celestial King, should be sent to rule this 
earth. Dundrub died in heaven, but descending as a hail- 
stone, was swallowed on earth by a woman, and being re-born 
through her mouth returned to the earth-life as Kesar. 
Having attained maturity, Kesar left his country of Ling, and 
went to the “ Horyul,” the land of the north (now identified 
with Chinese Turkestan) to slay Akyung, the Demon King, 
whose widow he then married. She, wishing him to forget 
his home, and the wife he had left behind, drugged his food 
with a magic potion. During his absence the Turks came 
and conquered the country, killing his sons Buma and Labtsan, 
and taking captive a third son, Skelebuchung, with his mother 
Bruguma, Kesar’s Queen. His castle they razed to the 
ground, the women, whose beauty equalled that of the fairies, 
were pulled about by their glorious tresses, whilst the heroes 


Rajahs & Royalties 197 


were chained by their necks. As fireplaces the Turks used 
golden hills, and their tents were pegged down with silver 
mountains. So terrible was the distress in the country that 
in desperation a council of all the families was called, over 
which the uncle of Kesar presided. After earnest deliberation 
they determined to send news of their distress to the King. 
A pair of cranes were caught, consecrated, and entrusted with 
the news of their trouble, but, although they flew to all the 
four continents of the world, they could not find him, 
for they had omitted to search a certain nose-shaped valley, 
and were sent off again, this time to be successful in their 
quest. In the meantime the spells of the Demon Queen had 
worked so perfectly that Kesar had forgotten home and wife, 
but one night he dreamed that he had seen a red wind blowing 
out of the sky, which had carried away his wife Bruguma 
and killed his sons, and that an army had taken his castle of 
Ling, destroyed his golden altars, were washing their utensils 
in his beautiful bowls, drying them with his own silken 
garments. Telling his dream to the She-Devil, she said that 
for every hundred dreams which come true, a thousand do not, 
and increased the strength of her potions of forgetfulness. 
But this availed her nothing, for one day Kesar heard the 
cranes, although she tried to drown their cry. Realizing they 
had a message for him, he invited them to descend and give 
him their news. This they did, and dropping an emetic into 
Kesar’s mouth, he vomited the potion and found his dream 
had indeed come true. Arising, he went in search of his horse, 
and finding him, told him that he had to carry his master 
to Bruguma. His horse replied, reproaching him for having 
ever left her, the wife who had loved him, had patted him, 
fed him with barley, butter and sugar, had washed his sleek 
body with milk, and clothed him with silver trappings, and for 
having fallen a prey to the wiles of the Demon Queen, who had 
given him bad food, and so many heavy loads to carry that his 
back was covered with sores. This so angered Kesar that he 


198 Rajahs & Royalties 


slung a stone at him, but missed, for the horse had got behind 
arock. ‘The steed then said to his master, ‘“‘ Oh thou with the 
big head without brains, thou donkey without long ears, thou 
ox without horns, look at my sore back ! How can I carry 
you? But quickly take the lancet placed by my good queen 
Bruguma in my left ear, and cut out my sores, then wash them 
with the lotion in my right ear, and I will get well immediately 
and bear you back to Ling.” No sooner said than done, and 
they returned. Kesar re-conquered the country, liberated his 
Queen and her sons, and they lived happily ever after. 

Thus runs the story, and to-day we have in Ladak two 
representatives of this hero King, for Kesar is re-incarnated 
in both father and son, Kings of Ladak. The question may 
be asked how the young King can be a re-incarnation of King 
Kesar during the lifetime of his father who is also a re-incarn- 
ation of the same? ‘This is perfectly easy to explain, for 
Kesar appeared in many disguises, and they are incarnations 
of two of these. In like manner, the Queen Mother and the 
reigning Queen, both living, are each a re-incarnation of one 
goddess, the White Tara. In the case of the two Kings we 
have definite proof of this fact, for they have both of them a 
squint, although the son has only acquired his after years of 
practice. It would seem strange in most countries for the 
son to be reigning while his father is still alive, but, in this 
back-to-front country, the heir-apparent, on reaching manhood, 
has for long been made co-ruler with his father. At the 
present time they have gone a step further, for the Father 
King has retired to a hermitage, where he tells his beads, says 
his Ommanis, and prepares himself for his next incarnation. 
The coronation of the present King took place soon after we 
arrived in Leh, and all the missionaries and their children 
were invited to be present at the ceremony. So on the 
morning of the coronation day we were requested to send 
up the chairs on which we were to sit. The Tibetan word for 
a chair, by the way, is Khriushing, which means a wooden 


Rajahs & Royalties 199 


throne, so that we also were enthroned, but not on a raised 
platform. Although it was still winter, the afternoon sun 
was extraordinarily hot, as we toiled up the hill on which 
stands the castle, above the tiers of houses which form the 
chief part of Leh. This is a fine building, erected some 
three hundred years ago. It consists of nine storeys, and is 
built of stone and mudbricks. So high is it that the walls 
have had to be built with a slight slope inwards to keep them 
from bulging out. ‘The roof is perfectly flat with a balustrade 
running all round. When the King or Skushog is in Leh, a 
band of lamas with shawms and trumpets stand at the edge of 
this to salute them, and make a charming picture outlined 
against the sky. 

We entered under the porch, gaudily decorated with many 
colours. Above us, and on each side were gargoyles, which it 
was formerly possible to propel outwards and thus frighten 
the King’s enemies. We walked along a dark passage, and up a 
flight of rude stone steps. This took us past the Royal 
Temple, in which are a few images, and a small library which 
could no doubt tell us a good deal about former kings who 
ruled here, but what we noticed most was a large heap of black 
leaves, inscribed with golden letters, which have been thrown 
on the floor in anuntidyheap. ‘They were placed there by the 
Dogra conquerors, and nobody has ever taken the trouble to 
sort them. Our way then ascended a rough wooden stair- 
way, and, we eventually entered a large room. ‘This was now 
filled with many people of high and low degree. Ina corner 
a platform was raised about four feet above the people, and 
on it were enthroned the Incarnation of Hemis with the 
young King on his left. We were given seats in front, and 
had a plate of food placed before us. Hardly had the last 
member of our party been served, when a leading Ladaki 
came to us, thanked us in the politest and most elegant 
language he could command for the trouble we had taken in 
coming up to the castle on such a hot day, and hinted that we 


200 Rajahs & Royalties 


might wish to be busy elsewhere. Understanding that they 
would prefer our room to our company, we again wended our 
way down the hill. During our short stay in the room of 
enthronement, no ceremonies whatever were performed, and no 
word was spoken. ‘There sat the Skushog and the new, King 
like two graven images. We asked them what they did to 
crown their King, and they replied that he was allowed to sit 
on a throne as high as that of the Shushog. But we could 
not help feeling that the haste with which they got rid of us 
indicated that we were not to see the real ritual, as the influence 
of our Occidental presences would not be auspicious, yet we 
appreciated the friendly spirit which did not wish to omit us 
entirely from their important celebrations. 

The Royal ladies, too, have always given a welcome to 
visitors from Western lands, whether it be the missionary 
““ Memsahibs,”’ who live in Leh all the year round, or the 
summer travellers who may be taken to pay their respects to 
the reigning house at Stog. 

When the family come to Leh for their winter visit, 
their presence being necessary at the great festivals of the New 
Year and Dosmoche, we usually go up to the castle to pay them 
a call. We first inquire if it would be convenient for us to 
come on a given afternoon, sending a present of a cabbage, 
turnip or some potatoes, all of which are real luxuries in this 
part of the world, and hardly grown at all outside our own 
and the Commissioner’s compounds. ‘The time having been 
fixed, we are led into the sitting-room of the two Queens, and 
take our seats near them on nice Tibetan rugs, well-padded 
underneath. The little princesses, aged about two and seven 
on the last occasion, were very interested in the foreign ladies 
and the baby especially was delighted at receiving a rubber 
doll with a squeak. Butter-tea, of course, was served, and a 
special brand of sweet shortbread made in the royal household 
provided. Once when we went down to Kashmir, the old 
Queen Mother kindly sent over a dozen of these, wrapped ina 


‘punoIssIOF JY} UT [[t] OY} MOfeq s1v 
sSurfaMmp sunu oy, “yhoqe pos}yop uses’ oq ues sus}ioyO AuRY “TIA ot} SuTUMOAD Aro}SeUOUT oY} SUTMOYS ,pULTUGOSqoH 10j jeyideo YT ¥ ,, 


‘AUNAVNV’T] 








Rajahs & Royalties 201 


bit of Indian newspaper to help us on the road, while her 
daughter-in-law sent a request for some mercury (called in 
Tibetan “‘ silver water ’’) for what purpose we could not gather, 
and also asked if we could refill for her a bottle of scented hair 
oil. Once the two Queens repaid our winter call, and came 
to visit us in the compound. In the morning they sent down 
to know if we would kindly provide a magic lantern show by 
way of an entertainment, for they knew the Mission possessed 
such an instrument, but in the Doctor’s house we had other 
resources, for a Christmas tree had been made for the children, 
and we had this illuminated for our visitors. Removing all 
- central furniture, we arranged little tables in front of small 
rugs and mats round the room, and, what with the ladies-in- 
waiting and attendant lamas, every place was filled, and our 
small room soon needed airing. On the tables we could only 
provide dry food, suck as apricots, sugar, sweets, walnuts and 
sultanas, for they would not partake of anything we had 
cooked, and with our gramophone to entertain them, our 
guests seemed to enjoy their evening. We had to explain 
carefully of course, that the lighted Christmas tree was not an 
object of worship, but put up for the children’s pleasure, 
while our Christian Hospital nurse briefly told our Christmas 
story as illustrated by little picture cards hung from the tree. 
But perhaps the greatest thrill of the evening was a tour of the 
sahib’s house, where the bed-rooms and kitchen, and the baby 
sleeping quietly alone in the dark, caused the greatest interest. 

The castle of Leh, however, is not the usual abode of their 
Majesties, the King is in residence there only during the first 
Buddhist month of the year, and on other special occasions, 
and when the waters of the village where he resides in summer 
are all frozen, and must be melted before using. At other 
times he has his quarters in the castle of Stog, which lies a 
three hours’ ride from Leh on the opposite side of the Indus. 
When Zorowar conquered the great-grandfather of the present 
young King, he banished him there, and since then Stog is 


202 Rajahs & Royalties 


the only village from which he is allowed to take the revenue. 
His whole income has been computed at about Rs4o000, 
approximately £260 per annum, which leaves little margin to 
one who is still supposed to entertain on a royal scale. His 
castle stands on the side of the hill ending a spur from the 
main range ; itisentered throughacourt-yard, through which, 
up various steps, we reachalarge room—the royal living room. 
In one corner is the King’s altar, next to that a bed with bed- 
ding rolled up. This is where his Majesty seeks repose, 
while his Queen and his Mother sleep on the floor. We are 
received by the King, who shakes both our hands. ‘The two 
ladies, too, give us a hearty welcome, first the elder, whose 
cataract we had extracted some years ago, and then the 
younger. We are requested to sit on rugs spread on the 
floor, and soon have various Ladaki dishes placed before us, 
most of them very tasty, even to Western appetites, although 
we can hardly include the butter-tea in this category. Con- 
versation flows easily, for there is much to say and many 
questions to ask and answer. Among other things the 
reigning Queen informs us that her husband has no head for 
figures, so that she has to be the business manager, and she 
certainly looked capable of seeing to the temporal affairs of the 
realm. When it comes to those of a spiritual nature, however, 
his lady has to leave the leadership to him, and the number of 
his ecclesiatical responsibilities is quite considerable. Before 
the New Year, the horologist has to tell him of dangers to 
come, and to advise him what scriptures must be read to 
avoid them. Every month, for six days at least, the lamas 
must read chos (religion), and must be fed with two pots of 
tea, soup containing wheaten flour, two earthenware pots of 
beer, twenty measures of parched barley-flour, besides one 
pound of butter to decorate the offerings which are made of 
barley-flour, and 4} lb. of oil for their lamps. On the 
1sth and 18th of every month, no meat may be eaten, or 
the /hus (spirits of the underworld) will be annoyed. From 


Rajahs & Royalties 203 


the 25th of the tenth month till the 3rdof the eleventh month, 
eight lamas from Hemis have to come to read services for the 
stabilization of his throne. One cannot help thinking that 
these must have become slack in their devotions! At other 
times the gods of peace and war have to be propitiated by 
further reading. By the time all these ceremonies have 
been performed, there cannot be many days on which the 
lamas have not to be rewarded for services rendered, and— 
all on about Rs4,o00 per annum. 

Then he himself has his matins and evensong to read. 
Even before the family has risen he must get up and read his 
chos, and after they have retired he has to perform more 
ceremonies. 

So pass the days of this monarch; little of interest occurs in 
his life, which is filled up with a monotonous round of 
senseless readings of holy books, which neither he, nor those 
who read, try to understand. ‘The word “ Ichabod” might 
indeed be written over the house of Namrgyal. 

Although the Rajah of Stog, as he is termed, is the chief 
ruler in this country, there are other royalties of minor 1m- 
portance, thus the ‘‘ King of Marshro”’ has but one village 
under his sway. His eldest son will rule in his stead one day, 
whilst the powers which decide in what bodies Skushogs re- 
incarnate have fortunately discovered in his younger son, the 
new Bacola, the Spitug Skushog. 

In Zankskar we have already met a King, who is also a 
Skushog, in fact, he is prouder of his priestly office than of his 
royal rank, and stranger still is the custom of that country, 
where the heir apparent to the throne is the second son and 
not the eldest, who becomes a proper lama. 

Whilst we were in Padam, the capital of Zankskar, a poor 
old gentleman called on us in our tents with a few dried 
apricots and some candy sugar. After some time we found 
that he was the real scion of the royal house of Zankskar, but 
his ancestor had lost his crown by trying to oppose Zorowar, 


204 Rajahs © Royalties 


the enemy of his country. This poor “ pretender ’’ had got 
himself into trouble for wishing to rebuild the monastery on 
the hillock near his house, for this harmless action was con- 
strued into a desire to rebuildthe fort and oppose Kashmir. 

So we have many heads entitled to wear the crown in Lesser 
Tibet, but any uneasiness they may experience is generally 
due, not to the cares of sovereignity, but to the lack of that 
which is necessary for its due display. 


CHAPTER XxX 
Demons, Dances & Dinners 


N this country in which practically all the religious 
ritual is of the old demon worship origin, one would 
expect to find belief in the possession of man by demons. 
The Ladaki at any rate does not doubt the reality of such 

possession, and one is inclined to think that in spite of much 
fraud, there is a substratum of fact in it. Discussing this 
matter with a colleague one day, he affirmed that he had once 
had a woman patient who “ really was possessed by a devil,”’ 
and, in reply to the query as to how he had treated her, he 
said that a good dose of castor oil had cured her ! However, 
the reader shall judge for himself from the following 
experiences. 

Some years ago we heard that in Marshro, a village 
situated a day’s march from Leh, two brothers would become 
possessed by two very fierce demons, and my colleague and 
I decided to investigate the performance. Having arrived 
there, we were given a nice large room in the monastery, 
which proved somewhat too airy, as the time of year was 
mid-winter and one side of our apartment was completely 
open to the wintry air. However, by donning the rough 
native sheepskin coats, and ignoring their smell, we managed 
to make ourselves fairly comfortable, especially when we, 
with our servants, sat round a large pot of steaming Irish 
stew. As we enjoyed this warming and welcome dish, our 
table companions, waxing loquacious, told us of how these 
demons originally came from Central Tibet to reside in 

205 


206 Demons, Dances & Dinners 


Ladak, and how they were now the fiercest in the whole 
country. ‘They said that these special demons always take 
possession once a year of two men belonging to two definite 
Marshro families. Sometimes they are the same two men 
for a number of successive years, at others they vary. The 
affatus always occurs during the first Buddhist month. 
Should the chosen candidate be a new one, he has to prepare 
himself from three to four months before, but otherwise one 
is sufficient. When the time has arrived these two men, 
generally, if not always, lamas, repair to a mountain retreat. 
Flere they sit in a box, which is so made that they can neither 
lie down, nor assume any attitude other than that of sitting 
absolutely upright, and they are only allowed out for a very 
short space of time in the morning, afternoon and evening. 
They do not divest themselves of their clothes the whole time, 
and so cramped do they become that a rope is fixed above their 
heads by which to pull themselves up. During this month 
they are supplied with food from the neighbouring 
monastery of Marshro. Their duties consist in the 
reading of holy books, and the innumerable repetitions 
of Om manis. The month completed, a crowd of people 
ride up to their retreat to escort these Lhapas, god- 
men as they are now called, back to the monastery. 
There can be no doubt of their possession now, for whilst 
the ponies of all their companions get very tired on this 
iourney, those of the Lhapas are absolutely fresh throughout. 
Our informants then tell us of how the Lhapas will on the 
morrow cut themselves with swords without drawing blood, 
will run about on giddy heights without falling, and will 
foretell the future. 

Next day we took our seats on the balcony overlooking 
the monastery courtyard with great expectations of a really 
thrilling show. There was a large crowd present, and soon 
an ordinary lama’s dance was performed below us. ‘These 
in their demon-masks were shortly joined by the Lhapas, 


Demons, Dances & Dinners 207 


who were naked to the waist, and, whilst dancing, each waved 
about a sword which he carried in his right hand. At a given 
moment this weapon was brought across the other bare arm, 
but immediately it had arrived there, and before any harm 
could be done, several lamas rushed to them, pulled the 
swords away, and begged them not to harm themselves, a 
request in which they seemed only too pleased to acquiesce. 
This performance rather reminded one of the lamas of whom 
Waddell tells, who, when wearing the “ sky-soaring ”’ hat, have 
to be held down firmly to keep them from floating right out 
of sight. Our Lhapas, having tried to cut themselves several 
times, and being just as often restrained, eventually repaired 
with the other dancers into the temple. We sent a request 
that we might be allowed to come to examine them, which 
they granted. There we found two young men whose faces 
were rather pleasant, but in whose eyes there certainly was a 
strange, strained, wild look. They showed us their arms on 
which we descried a small straight scratch, but no blood ! 
On closer examinaton we concluded that they had cut them- 
selves some days before, had allowed this to scab over, then 
merely had to remove the scab and “ they were able to cut 
themselves with swords, but without drawing blood” ! 

We now watched the second act. This begins with another 
devil dance, in the middle of which the two Lhapas rush to 
the top of the monastery running along the outer edge of 
the wall, with a distinctly nasty drop to one side of them, or 
jumping down from fairly high distances, an acrobatic feat 
which I personally would not like to perform, but one, on 
the other hand, which any good English gymnast with a 
little practice and a good head for dizzy heights, or a pro- 
fessional steeplejack, would find no difficulty in emulating. 

Now came the grand final achievement—the act of pro- 
phesying events to come during the ensuing year. We noticed 
the Lhapas going from group to group, beginning with the 
royal family, and again we sent a polite message, asking them 


208 Demons, Dances & Dinners 


whether they would mind paying us a kind visit. ‘They 
agreed and soon stood before us, dancing about from one leg 
to the other in a state of great excitement. My colleague 
then held out his purse and asked them to tell him how 
much money it contained. This excited them still more and 
they exclaimed, ‘‘ You are trying us—we will not be tried— 
we will not answer.” Then they turned to me, and, after a 
few flattering remarks as to my medical work for their country, 
which were meant to make me amenable, they asked me what 
I desired to know, to which I replied that I wished them to 
tell me the next question I would ask them, having before- 
hand told my colleague what this would be. This caused a 
fresh outburst of fury in which they departed from us in 
anger, and we from them in disgust at the fraud perpetrated 
on these credulous folk. It is difficult not to label the whole 
thing a big lie, for from Lahoul come the weirdest stories. 
Thus we have been told that here the Lha often inhabits 
the beam of a house. Wishing to have a walk, the beam is 
shouldered by men, who carry “ him ”’ up hill and down dale in 
the most extraordinary manner. If they essay to take the 
Lha in an undesired direction, the god shows his disapproval 
by becoming heavier. He eventually indicates the house in 
which he wishes to take up his residence by again becoming 
more ponderous. Generally this occurs near the habitation 
of some opulent Buddhist. At other times a still more ingenious 
method is resorted to in order to ascertain the wishes of 
the La. A mirror is carried in front of and facing the beam, 
and the reflections therein show the god’s wishes to perfection. 
We were told that sometimes the Lhapas—these godmen— 
disagree, and have to have their disputes settled by the 
English Christian Commissioner. It is really rather strange 
that often the god takes possession of a man of the blacksmith 
caste, although he is despised, and yet the moment he becomes 
the habitation of the god, he is, of course, regarded with much 
respect. 


Demons, Dances & Dinners 209 


A similar rise in the social scale occurs with the Spiti 
magicians, who visit Ladak every summer. These gentlemen 
are of quite low caste in their own country, but here they are 
addressed in the language of respect, being known as the 
Mani-pas or “ prayer-men.”’ Wearing long red robes, they 
are, however, distinguished from lamas by the absence of 
caps, and by long hair plaited up in braids, close to their heads 
in front and hanging down to their waists behind, giving a 
curiously effeminate effect to their moustached faces. Their 
entertainments are closely bound up with religion, in fact their 
name, the Mani-pa, has been given to them on account of 
this and their constant attention to their hand manis or prayer- 
wheels. When about to give a show, they first arrange an 
altar in the form of a couple of banners behind a table with 
sacred lamps and vessels for barley and other offerings. In 
front of this they dance with swords, at first slowly, then 
with increasing excitement until the climax is reached by 
running forward, placing their feet on the ground, raising 
their bodies, and apparently balancing them on the points 
of their swords, which are placed in the armpits, abdomen, 
or even cheeks. This effect is really achieved by sufficiently 
straightening and stiffening the arms. They also pierce their 
cheeks, through an old scar, with swords and long needles. 
Their masterpiece of magic is the breaking of a large stone 
by one of them on the abdomen of the other. This, of course, 
is preceded by a lot of incantation and dancing round the latter, 
who lies on his back on the ground with the small boulder 
balanced carefully on his abdomen, and, at the right moment, 
this is made to fall apart into two halves by beating upon it 
with a big stone. For some days previously the actual boulder 
is sought for on the desert hillside around with considerable 
trouble and selected with great care, while the one on whom 
it is balanced has to hold his breath throughout the performance 
of the trick. They also beat the abdomen with swords, which 
process is also rendered harmless by the trick of inflation. 

oO 


210 Demons, Dances & Dinners 


Unfortunately this performance of breaking the boulder has 
twice led to fatalities in Ladak, by children trying to imitate 
it on one of their small companions. 

But, besides the dancing of monks and magicians, Ladak 
has its own country dances for pure pleasure. Perhaps the 
ordinary women’s dancing has a slight religious element, for 
in the course of it, the right hand is raised, and the gestures 
made to signify the plucking of a flower, the opening out of 
the bud into blossom, and then its presentation to the gods. 
But even these motions of the hand are said to originate in 
the old Dard custom of greeting each other by raising the 
arm, and moving the closed fist to and fro. The rest of the 
dance is very slow and monotonous, though Ladakis them- 
selves never seem to tire of it, and it is performed on every 
festive occasion. The ladies certainly look quite picturesque 
with their broad well-turquoised perags, their gay capes, 
quaint turned-up embroidered shoes, and wristlets of chased 
silver or white shell, which they knock together in respectful 
salutation to the King, or presiding official, at the beginning 
and end of the dance. Their capes in winter are of long white 
sheeps’ wool, covered on the outside with large squares of 
green and red cloth. In the heat of summer they are replaced 
by fringed capes with Kashmir or Yarkandi embroidery, or, 
better still, beautifully worked Chinese silk. The women who 
take part in these dances are members of a certain superior 
grade of the farming land-owners, each household of which 
has to provide a woman dancer for the King, who must come 
whenever he summons her. ‘There is thus nothing of the 
immoral Indian nautch about this historical country dance. 
The services of these respectable women are especially 
exacted in winter, when for some days at the New Year and 
the festival of Dosmoche they must dance daily. In return 
for this they enjoy the food and festivities of the royal house- 
hold. Formerly there were about thirty, now only seven 
usually turn out, who certainly cannot claim to have been 


Demons, Dances & Dinners ONE 


selected for either their youth or beauty. Other dances, such 
as the “ pigeon” dance occur, in which both sexes join, 
though without touching each other as in the West, and the 
“shoulder ”’ dance of women only, in which movement of the 
shoulder are prominent. In the shondros, also a woman’s 
dance, the partners face each other, then wheel round till 
they come back to back, afterwards slowly reversing again 
till they face once more. At the end of the horse-racing in 
the New Year, a dance occurs in the middle of the bazar 
in which the women stand in a circle, and the men dance 
round them in pursuance of an old custom connected with 
royalty. A dance for both sexes, called the “ peacock dance,”’ 
has its song about that bird. Otherwise the Ladaki dancing | 
differs from that of Tibet, which is said to be always 
accompanied by singing. 

It has now become practically an annual event for the 
Wazir to have a display in honour of the British Joint 
Commissioner, at which other dances and plays are seen, and 
the stage properties of Leh obtain their yearly airing. To 
this /tadmo any Europeans who happen to be in Leh at the 
time are hospitably invited. The programme usually begins 
in the afternoon between two and three o’clock, when it is 
opened with some sort of prayer for His Imperial Majesty 
and H.H. the Maharajah of Kashmir. The former may take 
the form of ‘‘ God Save the King ” sung by the Boys’ School 
in English with their own peculiar accent. The boys of the 
State School then act a little play, more or less in costume, 
and always with a very powerfully pointed moral; and, of 
late, a demonstration of Boy Scouts of both State and Mission 
Schools has become a feature of the programme. This may 
be followed by a lama dance in devil-masks, and tea is usually 
served between four and five p.m. For this the é/ite withdraw 
from the covered balcony, from which they have been watching 
the performance, to tents or a simple pagoda in the Wazir’s 


pleasant garden behind. The Europeans have one tent, the 
02 


212 Demons, Dances & Dinners 


King and a Skushog, if present, and one or two Leh Buddhists 
of high rank, another, Hindu and Mussulman officials have 
their separate resorts, and any other slightly less prominent 
townsmen or traders have their own places. The Europeans 
are provided with an English tea, for which, with good luck, 
the butter in the cakes is not too strong. After this refresh- 
ment they may adjourn to the adjoining polo ground to watch 
a match there. 

The hours from six to eight are usually labelled “ rest ” 
on the programme, and we return from our homes to dine 
in the Wazir’s house at eight. ‘The number of Sahibs in Leh 
entertained thus lavishly, once reached. seventeen, and the 
record number of courses at such a dinner was fifteen, but, 
on this occasion we were also celebrating the birth of a son 
to the Wazir, while the previous year, during the Great War, 
we had met to commemorate the British conquest of German 
West Africa. At one of these feasts our host was a Mussulman, 
who partook with us; so also a small son of his endeavoured 
to do, but there were many courses, and the day had already 
been so long and exciting, that the little fellow could not manage 
to keep awake. He would sit up for one or two courses, then, 
having fallen asleep, be removed to return after one or two 
more, and so food and sleep alternated with him throughout 
the meal. The elaborate menu of these meals is usually 
presided over by a Ladaki quite expert in Western cooking. 
After a short smoke we all return to the covered balcony, to 
find a large bonfire kindled on the open space in front of us, 
on which kerosene oil, so costly by the time it reaches Leh, 
is recklessly thrown at intervals, or when a special flare of 
illumination is required. The weird performances we are 
going to see are rendered far more effective by its flickering 
light, which also plays on the quaint brown faces of the 
spectators, packed closely together on the other three sides 
of the square, some sitting on the ground in front, others 
standing behind, women in blue turquoised perags and black 


Demons, Dances & Dinners 213 


earflaps, men and children in their turned-up caps, dotted 
about with Mussulmans in turbans, old and young all eager 
and expectant, for they love a /tadmo. 

One of our annual friends opens the programme, a man 
on stilts concealed by long draperies, not very realistic, but 
a source of great delight to the child-like audience. He is 
followed by two large birds, with long necks (held up by an 
arm of the masquerader within) and vulture-like heads and 
beaks, the bodies covered with sheepskins. These extra- 
ordinary animals, programmed as “chicken,” hop about, 
peck at each other, clean their feathers, and attend to their 
personal shikar, each action provoking a fresh outburst of 
amusement from the crowd. 

Next comes a lion dance, in which two men are covered 
with a large skin, from which their human booted legs pro- 
trude as fore and hind legs in the most unabashed fashion. 
The face consists of a mask, and its attendants introduce it 
with antics of their own. The unwieldly lion makes grotesque 
leaps and bounds, and finally climbs up on to a table. The 
play was brought to Leh from Chinese Turkestan, where 
several tables are piled up high, and our nimble lion reaches 
the topmost. In Leh, however, a far more serious dénouement 
is achieved, for, with a series of rolls and contortions, a baby 
lion is born, to the unbounded delight of the audience, and 
suddenly appears on the table with its mother (the cub being a 
child also dressed in a skin). Waddell says that the play of 
this acrobatic lion was primarily derived from China, and 
has its origin in the “‘ mythical lion of the Himalayan snows, 
which is believed to confer fortune on the country where it 
resides. One of these lions was enticed to China by a wizard, 
and the crops and cattle prospered as long as it lived, and 
when it died the Chinese stripped off its skin with which they 
conduct this dance.”’ 

Next comes a dragon dance, also originating from China, 
where the dragon is deified. It is supposed to follow after a 


214 Demons, Dances & Dinners 


man holding a ruby, which it wishes to devour. It is formed 
by a masked leader, from whom long coloured strips of thin 
cloth pass backwards over other men, who hold up lighted 
Chinese lanterns on sticks inside it, all their feet representing 
the dragon’s legs. It certainly looks fantastic enough, with 
its illuminated sinuous snake-like outline darting to and fro 
in the darkness. 

These plays are varied with dances, such as a torch dance, of 
Indian origin, in which a bare-footed man rushes about twirling 
a long torch lighted at each end, getting more and more furious 
as the burning ends approach his body, and the drums beat 
faster. Of sword dances there are two or three varieties; a slow 
quiet rhythmical one by a Balti with one sword only; one by 
a Pathan, lithe and rapid, with a sword in each hand; another 
slower one, when a Ladaki wields two swords, while in a 
fourth, two Pathan dancers, each with sword and shield, 
approach from opposite corners, and engage in mock fight. 
This dance has come down from old Ladaki times, when our 
peaceful ‘Tibetans here more resembled their Pathan neigh- 
bours, and were probably more fierce and warlike in their 
mountain fastnesses. 

Another amusing scene which is usually played on these 
occasions is the representation of a Kashmiri pundit, who is 
a settlement officer, and goes round the countryside measuring 
fields and assessing taxes. He and his underlings are cari- 
catured with floured faces, and good humoured fun made of 
their bribing methods. 

But, perhaps the masterpiece and certainly the most amusing 
item of the show comes on towards the end, called ‘“‘ The 
Amban and the Boat.’”’ The Amban is a Chinese official on 
tour, who enters the scene of operations with his staff, and 
engages in his judicial duties. Then a messenger arrives and 
presents him with a red paper, informing him that his wife 
is coming to meet him. ‘The lady is seen in the distance 
advancing towards her lord in a rickety boat over a rough 


Demons, Dances & Dinners 2.1 


sea. The boat is cleverly made with a framework of wood 
and paper from which a cloth valance depends. In the middle 
a small curtained canopy is erected, through which the lady’s 
head can be dimly discerned, but her manly legs can be seen 
beneath as her impersonator works the boat, walking sideways 
here and there, and making the light craft rock and sway 
and gyrate violently as though in a heavy sea. An attendant 
guide or guardian and a boatman with an oar both accom- 
pany the lady, but outside the boat, so that the manipulations 
of the external oar add to the ludicrous effect produced, 
which in the bonfire light is grotesquely realistic and 
extraordinarily funny. As the boat approaches the Amban, 
the boatman makes a grave error in his nautical activities, 
and the boat with its precious occupant totters dizzily down 
to stillness. However it is not sunk to the depths of the 
ocean, for, after the Amban has manifested his anger and 
the boatman received a beating, the gay craft rises 
and once more rocks and sways, and, encountering boisterous 
seas, again vanishes into the distance, leaving the European 
element of the audience at least struggling between laughter 
and memories of mal-de-mer. 

This little drama and that of the lion and dragon were 
brought to Leh by traders and servants of sahibs who 
travelled to Yarkand. “The Amban and the Boat” so 
impressed one of the latter when he saw it at Kashgar, that 
he introduced it into Leh for the first time as a fit entertain- 
ment for the wedding festivities of a friend, who, we hope, 
did not have to send for his bride across such perilous seas. 


CHAPTER Gxt 
A Typical Monastery 


HIS is a country of monasteries, hardly a village is 
without one. In some it is imposing and situated 
on as high an eminence as can be found conveni- 
ently near the village. In others it is just a 

better class ordinary house with one or two lamas. Some 
monasteries belong to the Red sect, others to the Yellow. In 
some there is a resident Incarnation and others are only visited 
by one occasionally. It would be tedious to both reader and 
writer, to describe all these, so we will confine our atten- 
tions to one of the most pleasing and certainly one of the 
cleanest of monasteries which lies close to Leh, and may be 
reached by a twenty minutes’ walk up through the fields 
behind the rest-house. A small village and a group of poplar 
trees, much above the average size, indicate the direction from 
afar, also the glint of the gilded wild goats represented just 
below the roof of the monastery can be descried from some 
distance. Having sent a message beforehand to the sLoé- 
dpon (pronounced “ Lobon’’) or head lama in charge, we 
meet for an early tea, and wend our way up along the stony 
paths by the side of the watercourse, skirting the corn-fields, 
so as to be able to use our cameras while the light is still good. 
This little monastery of Sankar is closely allied to the Yellow 
Cap one at Spitug, about five miles away, and is presided over 
by the same Skushog now incarnate in the small boy of whom 
we shall speak later. 

But during his minority the real presiding genius is Meme 

216 








SANKAR DGONPA. 


A small yellow-sect monastery close to eh, shewing the main entrance. 


A SHRINE. 


The three chortens inside are usually coloured red, white and blue; and on the walls behind 
them various gods are depicted in bright colours. 





A Typical Monastery 218 


Lobzang, a delightful old gentleman with a benevolent face 
and a courteous manner, which are really quite charming. He 
is quite a good photographer, and this common hobby forms a 
natural link of friendship, including requests for the purchase 
of self-toning paper and other photographic requisites. He 
is expecting us, and stands in the side of the doorway with 
some of his lamas so that we may advance without fear of the 
monastery dogs, of which there are always some about, who 
generally announce the arrival of an intruder with considerable 
and alarming vigour. The main doorway is lofty and deep, 
with heavy wooden doors, but to-day it is closed, as inside 
carpenters are sitting under its shade sawing away for some 
builders, busy at a new balcony ina near corner of the building. 
The side door, a smaller one, is that generally in use, and 
admits to the corner of the large court-yard, in the middle of 
which are two walled enclosures round wild rose bushes, one 
a large yellow one, the other pink, with another bush whose 
pale yellow flowers, insignificant in themselves, have the 
strong scent of syringa, in bloom. In the centre there stands 
a high poplar wood pole, to the top of which is attached a 
black yak’s tail, and running down its entire length a prayer- 
flag. To one side of the enclosure is a mounting block from 
which the Skushog can mount his steed. 

Lying about the court-yard are a few dogs, but they seem 
quite peaceful and undisturbed by our advent. The main 
temple faces us as we enter, three storeys high, with the usual 
roof-edge of a layer of sticks about one foot broad, lying end- 
on, and painted with ochre. On this roof are erected at 
intervals long rough poles bearing prayer-flags, or yak’s 
tails, or an umbrella-shaped structure consisting of long 
streamers of plaited yak’s wool bound together by coarse 
strips of raw silkand surmounted by a trident. The windows, 
latticed-shaped but unglazed, are interlaced with wood, 
picked out in various colours, and, across the top of each, is 
a little valance, a frill of some coarse white cloth with a red 


218 A Typical Monastery 


striped border The other three sides of the court-yard are 
filled in with the two storeyed private dwellings of the 
lamas. No pillared cloisters are these, but just an occasional 
flight of a few steps, then a door, and at the side a 
window at a level which may or may not be in relation with 
that of the other doors and windows, and over both apertures 
the same kind of valance. If the latter sags in the middle, 
there is no hurry to replace it, far less to wash it, but on the 
whole this dGonpa, presents quite a clean, brushed, cared-for, 
tidy appearance. Ascending the steps, we arrive in the large 
covered portico outside the main room or refectory of the 
monastery. All round the three walls pictures are painted in 
bright colours. On the left is the ‘‘ Wheel of Life” held by 
a dragon-like monster. This consists of an inner, a middle, 
and an outer circle the middle one being divided into six 
compartments. The inner circle represents by means of a 
dove, a serpent and a pig coloured respectively red, green and 
black the three vices, lust, ill-will and stupidity, which bind 
man to the wheel of existence. In the upper compartment of 
the middle circle are the gods, into this grows the tree whose 
fruit provides any food desired by the soul and whose roots 
lie in the world of the demi-gods, who continually wage war 
against the gods in order to obtain this fruit. In the upper 
left-hand compartment are men. ‘The above three existences 
are superior, whilst below the equator are the inferior ones of 
beasts, then of yidags, poor miserable men with large bellies, 
but such small necks that their hunger can never be appeased 
through such constricted throats, and in the lowest section 
are the hells, both hot and cold. A cold hell seems rather a 
misnomer to English ears, but Ladakis, at any rate, know the 
terrors of extreme cold. Buddha himself is out of the circle, 
and yet his reflexes seem somehow to be still in the wheel of 
existence. In the outer circle are pictures illustrating various 
phases of life, such as birth, marriage, death, burial work. 
Opposite the top of the steps, on each side of the door with 


A ‘Typical Monastery 219 


its fine brass bosses, are the gods of the four points of the 
compass, whose duty it is to guard the temple, and these 
figures are depicted outside most temples. On the right 
wall of the portico 1s a benign old gentleman, the god of luck, 
who sits under a tree bright with blossom, and holds con- 
verse with sundry animals, such as a stag, an elephant, and 
a peacock. We takea deep breath of fresh air before entering 
the refectory with its dim atmosphere of musty incense, 
lighted from above through a central aperture leading to an 
inner roof, and from the door behind us, and slowly descry 
its contents between the dark wooden pillars and the faded 
hanging banners. Opposite to us the Skushog’s throne is 
raised above the. other seats, upholstered with rather dingy 
cushions on which he, of course, sits cross-legged, so there is 
no need for a place for the lower limbs to hang over, but im- 
mediately in front of it is a narrow ledge-like table on which 
are the tools of his office: the bell, the thunderbolt or dorjhe, a 
small tambourine, with a very restricted waist and a long 
tasselled appendage, as well as the knob on a string which 
beats on the skins when rattled. Other utensils consist of 
temple vessels for pouring out water, beer, tea and other 
libations. Leading up to the throne, on each side of the 
central aisle, are the seats of the lamas slightly raised above the 
ground, well-padded and covered with rugs, and in front of 
them a continuous shelf-like table. A cup or two may be 
seen left from the last meal; here, in the corner between seat 
and table, rests a leather bag, and on a plate some butter and 
tea. A lama tells us the tea has been given out of the bag 
and placed with the butter ready for the morning meal, which 
they take, he says, about 9 a.m., though they get up at sunrise. 

Near this physical sustenance, on the lamas’ seats are a 
collection of brass bowls leaning against one another upside 
down, as though to drip after washing. ‘These are, for the 
oil and wicks to be placed before the altar. The seat of the 
Slobdpon is at the head of the monks’ pew on the right of the 


220 A Typical Monastery 


Skushog. Next to the Slobdpon sits the leader of the eccle- 
siastical band. Heading the opposite row is the Umdzad, 
who is the steward and 1s responsible for the worldly affairs of 
the monastery, and in some dGonpa at the further end, near 
the door and on the Skushog’s left, a seat is reserved for a 
disciplinarian who has to keep the lamas in order should any 
misbehave. 

Thus they sit, whether they are at meals or engaged in their 
devotions. ‘The latter consists of the reading of the books, 
punctuated every now and again by the band, when the 
flageolets are blown and the drums are boomed. Behind the 
row of seats one’s eyes, now accustomed to the dimness, are 
able to make out the walls, painted with pictures of all sorts of 
gods and creatures, human, animal and mixed. Here is one 
specimen of dragon-like fury, crushing all sorts of wretched 
creatures under his feet, no doubt for punitive purposes, and, 
let us hope, remedial ones. Another wall will show Buddha- 
like figures in peaceful contemplation, and with hands and 
fingers placed in various postures, each of which has its own 
special signification. In other places are wooden shelves and 
recesses of various sizes, once gaily painted round the edges, 
though the light is too obscure to appreciate it, now 
blackened by age and smoke. In these sit more images of 
gods, mostly of a beneficent type, but the chief ones will be 
found behind the Skushog’s throne. In a corner will be seen 
immense pots used for water or beer, a most fascinating 
assembly with their long-nosed spouts drawn straight out 
from the brims, high pointed collars behind, shining copper 
sides with brass edgings and waist-bands, the latter sometimes 
chased in silver. In another corner will be dusty shelves 
containing the holy books, manuscripts written on parchment 
and tied between covers about twelve to eighteen inches long 
and some four to six inches high. So holy are these that when 
they are being carried along the streets, the good Buddhist 
uncovers and touches them with his head. ‘They also are 


A ‘Typical Monastery 221 


often shaded by an umbrella, and at times of drought are 
taken out for a walk under this to invite the rain. 

Passing behind the Skushog’s seat we come to a better 
lighted room with more idols all around in their recesses, giving 
one the impression of an exhibition of different sized dolls 
houses, in fact our guides take us through a succession of such 
rooms, all much resembling one another, but each with its 
own purpose. ‘Thus, in the first of these, is the temple of the 
god called Avolakita with his eleven heads, surmounted by 
the head of Amitabha, the Buddha of Boundless Light. 
Round the whole, looking rather like a halo, are 1000 hands, 
each one of which has in its palm an eye. In order to accom- 
modate his many heads an attic projects up into an inner 
courtyard of the upper storey. The living representative of 
this god, the All-merciful One is the Dalai Lama, and the story 
is rather a pleasing one. Avolakita was about to enter 
Nirvana, when he happened to look back and notice some 
poor creature in trouble. Requesting his father, Amitabha, 
for permission to return and help him, he received this reply, 
“Yes, go back, but when you get there, you will find that 
there are many others in trouble. In order to see them all, 
I give you a thousand eyes, and in order to save them all a 
thousand hands.” ‘This surely savours more of the true 
Buddhism than the everlasting desire to do actions which shall 
obtain merit. A friend of ours has pointed out that these 
heads represent four past races, and that actually there should 
be twelve heads, three to each race, but the men of Atlantis were 
so bad that one of their three has been omitted. In front of this 
image stands a large ewer on a pedestal, which should be filled 
with butter and in which a burning wick should be floating, 
but we must admit that on the occasion of our visit, at any rate, 
it was “the light that failed.” We pass into another room 
containing other images, and whose walls are hung round with 
many ¢hangkas. ‘These are holy banners of various sizes, the 
smallest about one by two feet, hanging from a stick on which 


222 A Typical Monastery 


they can be rolled up, and covered by very thin silk, from the top 
of which two or three broad ribbons depend. ‘These depict 
gods or goddesses or the “‘ Wheel of Life,” and with their 
colours mellowed by age are sometimes very beautiful and of 
real value. From here we pass into another fairly large and 
well-lighted room with frescoes and holy banners on its walls. 
This is much used during the first month of the Buddhist 
year, when special ceremonies, already described, are per- 
formed. 

We goup some rough, ladder-like stairs into the room where 
the Skushog usually sits, his-place being marked by cushions 
and a padded back of gothic shape, and with a row of little 
Tibetan tables and mats at right-angles, where his attendant 
lamas sit with him. Near his seat, hanging up on a nail in 
the pillar, are seen some of his ceremonial hats; thus for riding 
he has a round most uncomfortable papier maché structure, 
with crown far too small for anyone’s head, a fair-sized brim, 
and a dome with a knob on the top, the prevailing colours 
being red on an orange background. Even with its strap 
under the chin, it is difficult to see what possible purchase so 
small a crown could have on any head in the slightest wind. 
At its side, a tea cosy-like head-dress, peaking over to one side 
in dark plum-coloured silk with gold patterns on it, is the one 
he is said to wear in the mornings and at certain annual 
festivals. Occasionally a devil-mask is seen hanging up, and 
in this particular monastery, no doubt reflecting Lobzang’s 
hobby, are occasional cheaply-framed photographs of the 
Dalai Lama or of other lesser dignitaries. 

And there is still another room in which there is a large 
god of the name of ‘‘ Dukar.”’ He is of such a size that his 
head projects into a second storey reaching into a little 
verandah on the roof ; the general arrangement is much like 
that of Avalokita, but his is a malevolent nature, in proof of 
which one sees the sickles, knives and arrows in his 1000 hands. 
Under his 1000 feet are many poor creatures, both animal 


A ‘Typical Monastery Pid 


and man, and he possesses 1000 heads. ‘Thrown at his feet 
one notices many cowrie shells and Indian copper coins, the 
former brought by women to appease him. This image was 
only made a few years ago, and a special series of services 
were held to induce the god to enter the image. These 
ceremonies were accompanied by feasting and dancing in the - 
crove of large trees at the side of the monastery, while the 
actual ritual was performed on the roof, where Meme Lobzang 
(the Skushog being then a tiny baby) presided, assisted by a 
group of lamas, who helped him to pour the right libations 
and offerings from the many vessels and bowls before his 
throne into the large fire which leaped and crackled before 
him, accompanied by monotonous incantations and chants 
from a group of seated lamas, and, of course, the monastic 
band. ‘To this roof we now duly ascended up another very steep 
jadder, where Meme Lobzang himself extended his hand to 
help the ladies with true Western gallantry. The view was 
magnificent, both behind towards the Kardong Pass and 
before down to Leh, whose trees blotted out the desert below, 
so that the cultivation and all its little square terraced fields 
might have extended to the foot of the mighty mountains on 
the further side of the Indus, all touched with the magic soft- 
ness of the westering sun. 

Retracing our steps down the steep staircases, through the 
dim passages and rooms, we emerged again into the portico, 
and viewed the lamas private dwellings ranged on the three 
sides in front of us as we descended the temple steps. In the 
left-hand corner was a peculiarly fantastic bit, so delightfully 
crazy it looked. A short flight of steps led up to two doors, 
each with an ancient padded curtain to keep out the draught, 
and a sagging valance above, whilst over one was a quaint 
little attic with a window of roughly-patterned lattice, its 
lines so fascinatingly crooked, and enhanced by a small 
awning, projecting from one side of the attic to shade the roof, 
on the edge of which was a series of rough window boxes, 


22H A Typical Monastery 


where American marigolds sometimes blossom. Once, to 
finish the picture, we glimpsed a bent little old lama who 
peeped out of the attic and over the window boxes, and saw 
for a moment the elfin grey locks and untidy whiskers of his 
hatless old monkish face, the fittest possible inhabitant of that 
grotesque little corner. 

There was one more interesting little visit to be paid. Meme 
Lobzang actually consented to show us his own private com- 
partments. There were eight of us, and the lamas had some 
whispered consultation as to whether we should all get in. 
Across the court-yard and up some steps tothe right of the main 
entrance, under the valanced doorway, through a small vestibule 
in which we noticed a fascinating copper water pot, we entered 
a tiny room looking down towards Leh. Wecould just manage 
to sit down on the floor, the interested lamas peering in and 
watching our every movement with amused curiosity. The 
floor was covered with small mats over felt ones. The 
Slobdpon’s chief resting place and probably his bed, was rather 
more padded, and covered with an orange felt. He sat with 
his back to the small latticed window, a low tiny table in front, 
and at his side a higher one on which were sundry portraits, 
one of their Majesties, the King and Queen, one of the Dalat 
Lama, and one of the Skushog of Hemis in his festival dancing 
dress with high hat and overskirt of human bones, taken by 
the Doctor Sahib. .A pickle bottle held a bunch of green from 
the shrub in the court-yard, and at the side was a low open 
bowl of rose petals. A small god like a doll, and a pot of 
charming design, the latter unfortunately dressed in lady-like 
petticoats, were also noticed, besides a printing frame, and 
another tiny god of doll’s house size. Behind him on the 
windowsill sundry writing materials, religious books, and 
small ceremonial utensils lay about, a coloured portrait of the 
late King Edward hung on another wall; in fact every corner 
of the room was used, yet the effect was clean and tidy. Stuffy 
it could not help being with so many visitors, and, after taking 


A ‘Typical Monastery 22)5 


a dried apricot each (to dispose of later on by some other means 
than the mouth), from a plateful which he presented to us, we 
rose to go. On the way out he invited us to see his kitchen, 
another tiny, but tidy little apartment, with its cooking vessels 
clean and neatly arranged, and its low roof shiny with the polish 
of years of smoke. ‘These rooms had not been tidied ug for 
our reception, yet they completed the pleasant impression of 
order and cleanliness he had already given us, and it was with 
a real respect for the benevolent old gentleman that we bade 
him adieu, and passed down by the iris-bordered corn-fields in 
the soft evening light to our homes. 


CHAPTER XXII 
Skushogs & Scandals 


MONG the greater personages who periodically 
appear on the stage of public life in Leh are the 
Skushogs of the surrounding monasteries. The 
word Sku-shog, meaning literally ‘‘ body-great,” 
or translated freely, “‘ your presence,” is a title of honour 
used by Central Tibetans for any person of rank, including 
even the European occasionally, but in Western Tibet it is 
confined to clerical dignitaries, and, in practice, is only used to 
designate the head abbot of one or more monasteries. Such a 
man is regarded as having obtained sufficient holiness to reach 
Nirvana, but in his compassion for his fellows he voluntarily 
remains in the wheel of life, and comes back to help them 
by presiding over their dGoupa. ‘Thus as soon as the head 
incarnation of a monastery dies, he is re-incarnated in a male 
baby born at the time of his death, this child then has to be 
discovered and brought to rule over his own lamasery when 
old enough. Here he is absolute monarch ; he himself 
cannot do evil whatever sin he commits ;_ he is a law-giver, 
but need not abide by the laws he lays down. The method of 
discovery and preparatory education of a Skushog may be 
best told by translating a short biography written in Tibetan 
by the Skushog of Hemis at our request. 

““ My own home is not in Llasa itself, as my father was 
an assistant to the Yutog minister, whose house is connected 
with Lhasa by a bridge, covered by a roof set in turquoise- 
coloured baked bricks. My house-name is “ Yutog Shar.’ 


226 


Skushogs & Scandals 2a 


The Yutog minister is the governor of twelve provinces and 
lives in the Kensdongrdzong. 

‘““T was born when my father was in the employ of the 
Yutogpa. My birthday is in the fifteenth Rabjhung, in the 
year of the Sheep. According to the English calendar, 
this would be the year 1883 a.v. When I was eight 
years old, that is in the end of the year of the Iron Tiger, 
the steward of the Hemis monastery, whose name was 
Neagwang Chos Zang, and the Kashmir State sent to 
Llasa for me, where I was staying at Dechen Choskor, 
which means the Holy Wheel. ‘That I was their Skushog 
was conclusively proved to the envoys, for when they asked 
the Yongdzin Incarnation to tell them where they could 
find their new incarnation, he told them my house-name, 
my father’s name and the name of my birth-year quite 
distinctly and correctly, although it was impossible for him 
to have known anything about me. Having arrived at 
Lhaldang, they acquainted me with this prophecy. ‘This 
was in the ninth year of the Iron Rabbit. After doing 
obeisance to the Dalai Lama with the Lodchag [this is the 
merchant who is sent from Ladak every two years by the 
Kashmir State to salute the Dalai Lama and to hand him 
a present of Rs.g,o0o0]. I offered my first hair to the 
Yongdzin, who was my Arch-Skushog at Dechen Choskor, 
and was then decorated with the crown-name Ngag Wang 
Jhamspel Gelegs Rgyaltsan Lhundrup Chogslas Rnampar 
Regyalwai Lde, after which I started on my journey ; at 
Shigatse I went to meet Panchen Ertini (the Trashi Lama, 
who is next in rank to the Dalai Lama), and after this 
arrived safely and happily at my destination in Hemis. ‘The 
next year my enthronement as the successor of former 
Skushogs took place, after which I returned to Lhasa, going 
on to Sangsngag where the Arch-Skushog lives, and where 
I met the head of the Red Sect Lamas, the Drugpa Rin- 
poche and the Yongdzin Rinpoche, and where I learnt the 

P2 


228 Skushogs & Scandals 


doctrinal truths, staying for some months. After this I 
stayed in Gongkar Dechos until the Sheep year, and in the 
year of the Firemonkey I went to see the Galwa Rinpoche, 
that is the Dalai Lama. Having done obeisance to him, 
he conferred on me the rank of ‘ San-o-han-too,’ which is a 

Mongolian word, and other honours which are only bestowed 

on men of high rank. [To show this rank he has an 

umbrella carried before him, and possesses his own flag. | 

I was also placed over other Skushogs and professors. I 

thus received such kindness and praise from the Dalai 

Lama. ‘That year I returned to Ladak, and the next I 

passed my examination in doctrine. After this I went to 

the hermitage of Godtsang, where I lived as a hermit, 
meditated on the doctrines of Saskya Rnyingma and 

Drugpa, etc., and read the Kangyur and the scriptures 

of the Lord Buddha, and pondered their meaning. Here 

I remained for ten years, but in the Firemonkey year I 

came out of retirement, and from that time onwards I have 

been travelling about Upper and Lower Ladak and Kulu, 
visiting my congregations and giving money to a few lamas, 
and occasionally I stay in a hermitage.” 

Since he wrote this little history he has also made a grand 
tour through India, Ceylon and Burmah to Lhasa, and has 
thus seen something of the impact of Western civilization, 
which interests him greatly. He has always been much 
attracted by small mechanical toys and Western devices, such 
as electric torches, clocks, watches, microscopes, etc., and is 
himself an expert photographer. Some visitors to Hemis 
were once amused to see on each side of the chief altar in his 
private apartment a pair of Odol bottles, their bent necks 
facing each other. When we first visited this room, they 
were replaced by Southwell jam jars containing artificial 
flowers. He is interested in Western medical science too, 
and gave a sum of money to the Doctor Sahib towards getting 
the operation theatre of the Moravian Mission Hospital in 


Skushogs & Scandals 229 


order, so that he might thereby “ help blind Buddhists to get 
their sight.” Hence the board outside, declaring it to be 
“the Raspa Operating Theatre.” He himself once came 
for a temporary stopping to be put into two of his teeth, one 
of which still remains after seven years. During his time of 
retirement up the hillside, he also read through our Christian 
New Testament, as translated into Tibetan, and when he first 
visited our house, his attention was attracted by a picture of 
the Last Supper, and he at once asked which was the Apostle 
John. He can write a good hand in English, and we believe 
understands far more of the spoken language than he allows to 
appear. He is the special abbot of the royal family of Leh, 
and whenever he comes from his monastery, some twenty- 
three miles away, to make a short stay in his town house at 
Leh, lamas appear on the roof of the castle to salute him with 
their long shawms and flageolets. Throughout the whole of 
his stay, salutations are played in the evening after sunset, 
when the long boom of the large instruments and the plaintive 
tones of the smaller ones are particularly pleasing, as they 
steal through the quiet after the close of day, and also during 
the early hours of the morning. For this latter réveillé I fear 
the lamas have no clock, for in summer it seems to take place 
at any time between two and five a.m., sometimes long before 
sunrise. 

Approaching Leh from the direction of Hemis, a hill 
suddenly rears itself in the middle of the valley, surmounting 
which is a monastery, that of Stagna. The head lama of this 
monastery we first saw at the Hemis festival in 1925 ; he was 
then a little boy of six, and we shall refer to him later in the 
description of that event. He belongs to a special sect, 
whose name denotes their pale yellow caps, and who are mostly 
congregated in Spitti. 

On another commanding position, and seen from as far 
up the Indus valley almost as Stagna, is the dGoxpa of Trigtse, 
perched on the top of a hill, which marks the end of a spur of 


230 Skushogs & Scandals 


mountains, jutting out of a long range to the north of the 
valley. This is a Yellow-Cap monastery and therefore gives 
a cleaner impression than most of the red ones. Its present 
re-incarnation was the hero of a strange series of events during 
the time we lived in Leh. 

It must have been in 1914 that we first made his acquain- 
tance. We heard that the Trigtse dGonpa had been without 
a Skushog for years, but at last a deputation of lamas had 
visited Tibet, and declared that they must bring their Skushog 
back to take up his rule. The boy, who was then about 
nineteen, refused to come, and his father strongly advised 
the lamas not to take him, declaring they would only rue it. 
He was a head-strong youth with no ecclesiastical leanings at 
all, and had already, we were told, fought on the side of China 
against his own country. The lamas insisted however, and 
he was brought to Ladak and installed at Trigtse. He seems 
to have been anxious to make the acquaintance of the white 
man, and, thinking he must do in Rome as Rome does, he 
sent an envoy from Trigtse to Leh to seek out the correct 
clothing for his first call on the Sahibs. This man, having 
searched the bazar in vain, called at the Hospital and asked 
the Doctor Sahib where he could buy a solar topee. Now 
the doctor and his bride, when they first came to India, 
had been advised by ill-informed friends to be sure to purchase 
these topees at Trieste, their port of sail from Europe. Here, 
therefore, they invested in what proved to be most in- 
appropriate policemen-like helmets, and a kindly sister in 
India at once saw to it that the Memsahib’s was replaced by 
a more suitable one. Bringing the ugly old helmet to Leh, 
in case the better one broke, she little thought how august 
a wearer it would find, for the Doctor Sahib with sudden 
inspiration sent the man over to his house, where his wife 
unearthed the discarded topee for the servant to take to his 
master. She added a pair of speckled socks of her husband’s 
of which she disapproved, an armful of picture papers, and 


Skushogs & Scandals aut 


some vegetables from the garden, and the man went off in 
high glee at the success of his expedition. 

The next morning we were asked whether the Skushog of 
Trigtse might call upon us. We hastily arranged for an inter- 
preter, for our Superintendent was away, and we were all 
new to the country ; moreover, our guest’s language of 
Central Tibet was quite a different dialect from that of Ladak. 
He duly arrived, dressed in his official robes and attended by 
two or three lamas, and was invited into the drawing-room. 
But he lingered in the hall, and to the Doctor’s surprise 
began to undress. This process continued to such an alarming 
extent that he was led into the study. Two other ladies had 
just called to go out with the Memsahib, and great was the 
surprise of all three when the drawing-room door opened, and 
the Skushog entered. He wore the helmet-like topee, a Chinese 
type of frock-coat with paired pin-tucks across the back, brown 
trousers, a pair of bright yellowish socks, and some Chinese- 
looking attempts at European shoes. Invited to a chair, and 
the interpreter called, he entered into friendly talk. He 
announced among other things that he would like to become 
a Christian, but we did not take this seriously, and pointed 
out that he could not do that and retain his wealth and power 
as a Skushog. He then intimated that he would like to stay 
the night, a rather awkward proposition with our 
limited accommodation, but we said we could give him the 
verandah. His lamas whispered anxiously together and let 
him know it was time to go. Meanwhile they had boiled some 
tea for him on a little fire outside our kitchen in his own 
pots, as he must not take food of our cooking. After this the 
Doctor offered him a cigarette, not knowing in his ignorance 
of the country that it was against the rules. The Skushog 
made violent signs to him to withdraw into the study again, 
where, away from the eyes of the lamas, he enjoyed his smoke 
thoroughly. The latter were at last able to get him to go, 
and withdrew him on to the verandah where he changed 


232 Skushogs & Scandals 


back into his priestly vestures, which, needless to say, 
suited him far better. Before he finally retired to change 
into them, he straightened himself and squared his shoulders, 
in order to show us that he also possessed a waistcoat ; but, 
alas ! between the bottom of that garment and the top of 
his trousers was a hiatus in which his holy brown body was 
disclosed. Short of stature, with a strong convergent squint, 
and scarred by small-pox, indisputable signs of his being the 
true re-incarnation of his predecessors, for he was sure that he 
himself had never had small-pox since this re-birth, the foreign 
clothes hardly showed him off to advantage. The next occasion 
on which he visited us he retained his Skushog’s garb and had 
a photograph taken of himself and his suite, the incongruous 
element being that his most intimate servant was not a lama, 
but a Mussulman with short hair and a Tibetan cap with four 
fur-lined flaps. 

After his first call, we took the opportunity of a day’s 
holiday to ride over to Trigtse and visit him. We found him 
encamped in a dagh below and about a mile away from the 
monastery, in a gorgeous tent with nice camp furniture. 
We ourselves had brought a picnic lunch, at which he elected 
to join us. The Memsahib was much amused to find that 
for her first attempt at meat patties, she had put sugar into 
the pastry instead of salt, but the Skushog seemed to find 
this quite to his taste, and enjoyed them immensely. After- 
wards we all repaired to the monastery, riding our ponies up 
the steep ascent, and he showed us over it, including all his 
own private apartments. 

But things soon began to go wrong and all sorts of rumours 
reached Leh. The Skushog declared in public that he did 
not believe in his own office or his religion. When the common 
people knelt as he rode past, instead of placing his hand on 
their heads in benediction, he boxed their ears. He had no 
reverence for the holy property of the monastery, but sold 
many of its treasures to any good bidder ; he also had the 


THE SkKuSHOG (ABBOT) OF HEMIS DGONPA 


In the robes in which he led off the first dance at the Festival of 1916. The overskirt is 
made of human bones, and in his right hand he holds a dagger. The cloth across his mouth is 
to keep out the dust raised by the dancing. 


. 
oh 

§ 
oP 


Ne 








Skushogs & Scandals 224 


idols out in a row to use as targets for a shooting practice. 
His colleague at Hemis sent him a letter, and this he returned 
with a donkey drawn across the bottom as his pertinent and 
only reply. 

One day matters came to a crisis: his lamas gave him a 
severe beating and shut him up in solitary confinement. 
Yet by every token he was their Skushog, and one of them 
seems to have relented and released him. The two came to 
Leh, where the Skushog first went to the State Hospital to 
have his external wounds attended to by the Indian Sub- 
Assistant Surgeon, but his internal treatment he could only 
trust to the English doctor, so for that he came to the Mission 
Hospital, where he also received a lesson on Western pro- 
fessional etiquette. ‘The monasterial difficulties resulted in a 
court case, following which certain of his lamas were sent to 
prison in Leh, which hardly bettered the relations between 
them and their spiritual head. 

It was not now practicable for him to return to Trigtse, 
and the question arose as to what was to be done with him, 
for still he was their Skushog and entitled to the financial 
benefits of his office. The matter came up before the British 
Joint Commissioner, the Wazir or State Joint Commissioner, 
and eventually was taken to H.H. the Maharajah of Kashmir. 
The result of it all was that in 1916 he went down to India, 
and for two or three years vanished into oblivion. Early in 
1920 he again appeared in Ladak with one lama servant, 
giving stange accounts of his experiences in India. He said 
that he had served as a common sepoy in Baluchistan, alleged 
that in some capacity he had been as far as Basra, that he 
had acted as bearer to an English officer with alcoholic 
tendencies, and also that he had been connected with a 
Colonel Sahib in the neighbourhood of Madras, who had 
treated him as his own son, and of whom he always spoke 
with sincere and friendly gratitude. He still maintained his 
utter disbelief in the religion of his fathers. The people 


234 ~ Skushogs & Scandals 


called him “‘ the Mad Skushog,”’ but, said he, “‘ [am not mad, 
I don’t believe in it at all.”” The problem of his sustenance 
and the dues of the monastery remained, for still no one else 
could be their Skushog during his lifetime, yet he entirely 
repudiated his office. The Mussulmans in Leh pressed him 
to join their ranks, offering monetary advantages, and the 
Buddhists were naturally very upset when he asserted that 
the only religion which appealed to him was Christianity, 
and vowed he would embrace it. He came to the Moravian 
missionaries and asked them to accept him. It was a difficult 
situation, as his sincerity, especially after his wild dissipated 
life, needed proof, but at last they began to give him instruc- 
tion, telling him that study and probation were necessary first. 
He came regularly to read with one of the missionaries, who 
found him a most interesting and quite intelligent pupil, to 
whom some of the things which puzzle Occidental minds were 
perfectly easy, while other fundamental ideas, which our minds 
can accept unhesitatingly, he as frankly avowed he could not 
believe. 

At about this time, living as he was with his one lama ser- 
vant in the town, and visiting Mussulman and Buddhist homes 
alike, he began to be alarmed for his personal safety. After 
taking an evening meal out, both he and his servant were ill, 
and he suspected poisoning. He came to the missionaries 
and begged them to take him into their compound, where 
he knew he would be safe. After some consideration, he was 
given accommodation, and it was a strange thing to look up 
the compound in the morning and see the Skushog sitting on 
his steps in the sunshine, studying the Bible. We still sus- 
pected that the desire to join the Christian religion was 
secondary, and this suspicion grew when it was found that 
he had hoped to get a political post under the British Govern- 
ment, and so go back to Tibet under its protection. Without 
it he certainly dare not venture, for he feared the Tibetans 


would dispose of both him and his father, by tying them up 


Skushogs & Scandals 2:35 


in yak’s skins and casting them out in the desert to be shrivelled 
to death. A Bishop was coming to visit the Mission, and the 
British Joint Commissioner would soon be coming up for the 
summer months, so he waited with us for both, though mean- 
while he went away for two or three weeks to fetch some of 
his property from Zankskar. He took his lama servant with 
him, and, before starting, secured what he considered was 
an outfit of European clothes. When remonstrated with, he 
replied that he had thought over the matter carefully, and 
wished to show that he had made a clean cut with the old 
life. On his way down we heard that he stuck to his pro- 
fession of Christianity, asked a blessing before his meals, 
read his New Testament aloud, and, when the usual offerings 
were brought to him by ardent Buddhists,—for still he was 
a Skushog,—only took them under protest, saying that he 
himself had no blessing to give. Arrived at Zankskar he 
obtained his pony and goods, but his lama deserted him, in 
fact he seemed to have had a rough time, and he came back 
alone. Strange it was to think of this high-born ecclesiastical 
dignitary travelling in the Orient with no servant, though 
doubtless credulous Buddhists were still eager to obtain 
merit by providing for his wants at each stage. <A short 
Waiting time remained, during which he often came to meals 
with us, rode and talked with us, proving an entertaining 
companion and a gentlemanly guest. He also continued his 
instruction and attended church services regularly, sitting on 
the floor with the other members, and entering into the 
responses and hymns with apparent sincerity and enjoyment. 

Finally, through the British Joint Commissioner, he was 
given a post in the Secret Service at Gyangtse, just across the 
Tibetan border on the Darjeeling side, and left Leh with 
letters of reference and recommendation, vowing that in two 
years he would come back to complete his instruction in the 
Christian faith. 

So this strange youth vanished from our midst. We 


236 Skushogs & Scandals 


learned afterwards that with the Maharajah’s sanction, he 
obtained Rssoo from the Trigtse dGoxpa to help him to 
get home, though the lamas would commit themselves to 
no statement as to whether they still regarded him as their 
Skushog or not, but at the monastery itself they always refer 
to him as the ‘“ Mad Skushog”’ still, and can appoint no 
successor during his lifetime. ‘The last news we were able 
to obtain was from a lama, returning from Lhasa and visiting 
relations near Leh, who said that he was still alive, and that 
he and his father had saved their skins owing to the latter’s 
wise forethought at the time the deputation first fetched his 
son from Tibet Knowing the lad’s extraordinary character, 
he had taken the precaution to draw up a document, stating 
that the Trigste lamas insisted on taking the boy away, both 
against his own will and the son’s. This paper eventually 
saved their lives, but the father was subsequently dismissed 
from his high post in the government and relegated to a lower 
one, while the son seems to live in a place of internment 
somewhere in the Closed Land, though not in Lhasa itself, 
provided with a house and fields, but segregated with other 
renegades, where, as the Trigtse lamas put it, he has not now 
the power to do so much mischief. 

Coming down the valley we meet our next Incarnation at 
Spitug, another lamasery picturesquely perched on a hill. 
When we first came to Leh, he was personified by an old man 
bearing the pontifical name of Bacola whose reputation did 
not savour of holiness. His other, and smaller, monastery at 
Sankar, just behind Leh, often received visits from him, so 
that he was not infrequently met on the six miles of road 
between. He died in 1917, but it was not for two or three 
years that we heard that he had been re-incarnated in the 
second son of the rGya/po (King) of Marshro, a petty Rajah- 
ship some fourteen miles away. Through his mother, who, 
like the old Bacola, came from Zankskar, his present physical 
body is a great-nephew to his former one. When this small 


Skushogs & Scandals 237 


person reached the age of five, he was brought from his home 
and with elaborate ceremonies inducted into office, the rites 
being performed at Sankar. From this time he remained 
in the care of the lamas, Meme Lobzang, our old friend at 
Sankar, being his lay tutor, while his spiritual instruction was 
undertaken by the Sras Skushog of Ridzong, of whom more 
anon, and with whom he sometimes went away for long 
periods. The present Bacola is a charming little person, with 
a big head and large wondering childish eyes, in fact, it is 
quite pathetic to see him sitting on his little throne in his own 
private apartment at Spitug, with the insignia of his office 
replacing childhood’s playthings on the table before him, 
and to hear his lamas instructing him as to what to say and 
do in their most polite and deferential language. Once one 
of these satellites arrived in Leh, and earnestly asked one 
of the Memsahibs for a cabbage. “ But,” said she, “ it is late 
in the winter and all our cabbages are done. We have not 
enough for ourselves.”’ But the lama pleaded and pleaded,— 
even a little tiny one would do,—for the Baby Skushog was 
crying and would not be comforted unless they procured a 
cabbage for him. So the Memsahib searched among the 
few old vegetables left, until she found a little one that would 
satisfy his baby desire. 

The Skushog of Peyang does not often visit Leh, and we 
have rarely seen him, but he is reputed to be one of the most 
erudite scholars of his own religion. He is of the red variety 
and holds sway over the Lamayura dGonpa also. 

Finally, a few words must be said about the incumbent 
of Ridzong lamasery, a few miles behind the hills of Saspola, 
who also rules a monastery in Nubra, so has constantly to 
cross the Kardong Pass. This gentleman, with his refined 
scholarly face, is perhaps the most spiritually-minded and 
learned of all the neighbouring abbots. A member of the 
reformed yellow sect for whom celibacy is decreed, he has 
yet dared to take and acknowledge a wife, instead of indulging 


238 Skushogs & Scandals 


in the usual profligacy, which still must be legitimate for one 
who is a law-giver, and who can do no sin. This lady, who is 
addressed by the honorific title of Bim, often accompanies 
him on his visits to Leh; she is very resplendent with 
magnificent perag and jewels, but quite friendly, and when 
she visited us was most interested in our children and their 
toys and dolls, especially one of the latter with eyelashes ! 
The Skushog is generally known as the “ Sras ” or Son Skushog, 
for he is one of a pair of incarnations, the ‘‘ Yab,” or Father 
Skushog, being the priest-king, we have already met on 
our tour to Zankskar. Inthe present re-birth the son happens 
to be older than the father, but that is a mere detail in this 
system of re-incarnation, where the physical body is of such 
minor importance. 


CHAPTER XXIiIi 
Introduction to the Hemis Mystery Play 


DESCRIPTION of life in Ladak could not be 

complete without an account of one of the great 

annual festivals held in the monasteries in the 

valley, such as the Gustor (the offering on the ninth) 
at Trigtse and at Spitug, or the Ghanggoni Thsedrup (the ful- 
filment of life on the blue hill) at Peang, all of which take 
place in the winter, whilst the Thseshu is held at Hemis in the 
summer. ‘The last is the most important, its chief feature 
being the presentation of the famous so-called ‘‘ mystery play.”’ 
The festival, as its name indicates, is held on the tenth day of 
the fifth Buddhist month, which is the birthday of Padma 
Sambhava, the founder of Lamaism, and still the presiding 
genius of the red sect. According to records in Sikkim, he 
was a magician who came north in the seventh century, and 
convinced the lamas of Tibet that he was sent as an incar- 
nation of the Buddha. But into the pure Buddhism, he 
introduces the old Box Chos with its devil-worship, and 
encouraged the most sensual practices, also the eating of meat 
and drinking of wine, asserting that over-indulgence in all 
these passions would lead to a state of high trance. Strangely 
enough, when we were waiting in the ante-room on a visit to 
the Skushog, this sentiment was exactly borne out by a Ladaki, 
who was participating in the native beer and already in rather 
an expansive mood. ‘To our remark that it was not right to 
get drunk and lose control of mind and body, he replied that 
it was good, for the soul then became happy and blessed. 

239 


240 Introduction to the Hemis Mystery Play 


The date of the Hemis festival falls in our calendar at any 
time between the beginning of June and the middle of July. 
The later it falls, the more European spectators are enabled to 
get over the Zogi Pass in time to see it. Hemis monastery 
lies in the foothills on the south side of the Indus one-and-a- 
half marches from Leh, and is reached by a good road on 
either side of the river. Crossing the latter at the cantilever 
bridge, some four miles below Leh, at the side of which is a 
pleasant little dagh for picknicking or camping, the road 
skirts the upper edge of the prolonged village of Chushod, 
towards the further end of which are camping grounds. ‘Then 
it passes over a long bare plain to another dagh, a welcome 

asis in the desert, whence the path turns up across the hill to 
the right. Hemis itself is hidden from the valley behind a 
spur of mountains, but the gorge in which it lies is indicated 
by the long mani walls and white chortens which line the 
approach. Rounding the corner of this spur of hills, the eye 
is met by the usual series of terraced fields and the end of a 
long belt of trees, which fills up the narrowing gorge. Behind 
the mountains rise in ridges of well-marked strata, backed 
finally by rugged upright pinnacles on which the sunlight and 
shade play with fantastic beauty. As the road nears the 
monastery each turn reveals increasing fascination of brown 
rugged rock and green tree, and, above all, of quaint chorten 
with red-ringed superstructure above white pudding-like base, 
until at last the dGonpa itself comes into view, a long, rather 
low building, with the usual goblin-like dwellings of the 
village climbing up the hill at the side. ‘The belt of trees 
keeps on the further side of the central stream, and at the time 
of the festival its enclosure is dotted about with wild rose trees, 
pink with blossom, a strange suggestion of the English 
countryside in this wild land of bare mountain tops. It is in 
this enclosure that the Skushog or Abbot allows his European 
visitors to pitch their camps, and even provides luxurious, 
spacious tents of his own for the more favoured guests, who 





THE HeEmMIS' FESTIVAL. 


The dance of deities at the Hemis festival, showing the chief god descending the steps under 
his canopy, while those who precede him in the procession have already begun to dance. 


THE (MYSTERY PwA yes 

Spectators watching the ‘‘ Mystery Play’ at Hemis. The balcony with the curtain across it 

conceals the purdah lady guests of the monastery, such as the Hindu and Mahommedan 
wives of the down country officials at eh. 





Introduction to the Hemis Mystery Play 241 


are personally invited by him. At the lower end of the wood 
he has lately built a guest-house on the plan of the bungalows 
inhabited by the missionaries in Leh. On the side furthest 
from the road, directly opposite the monastery, the wood 
ends abruptly on the bare hillside of rock and stone.  Climb- 
ing to a good vantage point on this, a delightful spot can be 
found to listen to the monastic evensong, and watch the 
shadows steal over the vast expanse of the river and valley 
spread out below. 

Though the spur of hills cuts off the main Indus valley to 
the left, beyond it rises tier after tier of great bare lonely 
mountain tops, overwhuiming in their immense majesty. 
Behind even these giants, the clouds lift to disclose still 
greater heights of everlasting snow. ‘Truly one has now the 
impression of having arrived on “ the roof of the world.” In 
the valleys below, the lights and shades chase across hill and 
plain, and, as the moon comes up in the cloud-flecked sky 
behind and pursues her slow path through the white wind 
driven masses, the strangest wraith-like forms seem to rise and 
pass below. At first they appear to be white clouds tucked 
down between the lesser hills, but, as they move to and fro, it 
becomes evident that it is merely the effect of the moonlight 
between the passing clouds thrown on to the sandy spaces. 
Then across the stillness of that great expanse, hitherto only 
broken by the stream coursing down between the trees some 
way below and the breezes rustling their leaves, comes the 
strangest music, slowly rising in pitch and increasing in tone 
till the hills take hold of it, and roll its reverberations onamong 
themselves, achieving an effect weird and fascinating beyond 
description. Turning in the direction of the sound, one sees 
to the left, in the darkness only, the faint outlines of the mon- 
astery building with dim lights shining in its windows, while 
other tiny ones twinkle fitfully in the quaint habitations 
merging into the hillside, whose queer ridged stratification 1s 
faintly perceptible, but one knows that on the roof of the 


QO 


~ 


242 Introduction to the Hemis Mystery Play 


dGonpa strangely appropriate lama figures with fairy-tale 
hats are blowing long shawms, telescopic trumpets which pull 
out to about fourteen feet, while at their sides are other priests 
ready to take turn with their smaller flageolets. The strangely 
Wagnerian effects of these shawms, which is soon replaced by 
the higher tones of the other instruments, throw a plaintive, 
questioning, sweetly-sad melody out into the mysteries of the 
silent grandeur around. The vastness of nature’s magnificent 
rugged mightiness, the elfish dwelling places and lights 
fashioned by human hands in this strange mountain fastness, 
and the haunting nature of the weird music under the star- 
spangled moonlit sky, combine to form an atmosphere which 
will last as long as the memory can recall them. Returning 
to camp, we almost stumble over a pile of sacks, and are 
surprised to hear a zhu-/e and descry a head at one end. It is 
our own ponymen, who had been passed sitting round their 
camp-fire on our way out, now already tucked up under their 
sacks in the open. Proceeding more warily, more sacks are 
found covering watchers beside a mare who foaled the day 
after arrival, and yet she, carrying her load with her two-days 
old offspring at her side, will travel back with us next day, the 
long-legged wee thing occasionally getting a lift in the arms 
of the ponyman, and turning up at the camping place 
apparently none the worse for its fourteen mile run. 

Up the sides of the stream sounds of revelry begin to arise 
from around the camp-fires of the many pilgrims, laughter 
and chatter and the rhythmic beat of dance music. Many 
of these pilgrims we have already seen on the road ; town 
ladies from Leh with immensely wide perags and all their 
gala finery, rattling with jewelry, their blue turquoises and 
gay capes of red and green showing up as delightful spots of 
colour on the bare brown landscape when they rode ahead. 
Stopping at any little spot by the roadside, where water is 
accessible to brew their tea, were little groups of wayfarers 
from the countryside below Leh and from the lesser known 


Introduction to the Hemis Mystery Play 243 


side valleys, the latter at once detected by a slight difference 
in dress or dialect. Here came a group of Indian officials 
from Leh, in front the white turban and coat of the Tehsildar 
or chief magistrate on an alert little pony with one or two 
attendants, behind at a little distance his daughter in her 
closed dandy, then his wife in hers, and their carrying coolies 
singing as usual ; sometimes the wail of the baby was heard 
from within the curtain. Leh traders, who put up little 
temporary shops under canvas along the main street (a series 
of steps and platforms at the side of the monastery) a detach- 
ment of Gurkhas from the company stationed at Leh, two 
Ladaki girls riding on one pony with a male relation at the 
side, all these, and many more types we can study at leisure 
during the long intervals of the performance, which would be 
unutterably boring apart from the picturesque and varied 
audience, to whom we are as much a part of the show as they 
are to us. One more little group, passed as we neared the 
monastery, deserves mention. Placed on a sort of chair, 
railed on the four sides and fixed to his saddle, sits a wee baby 
Skushog, the Incarnation of the dGonpa at Stagna, about ten 
miles away. He wears the correct red Skushog robes, and 
processional riding-hat, and wobbles a bit with fatigue after 
his long ride. We stop to greet him and his attendant lamas, 
and find he is only six years old, in fact he looks less. 

They draw aside to let us pass, and, as we look back to 
bid him adieu, the rich red of the lamas, the yellow-brown of 
his pony, with its small offspring sidling up to the mother 
adding a further baby element to the group, form such a 
picture against the green trees, chorten gate and distant 
mountainous background, that it makes us wish our camera 
was not packed up and ahead in our bedding. This tiny 
abbot re-appeared several times during the ensuing ceremonies, 
now on the roof, now in a balcony, now in a prominent corner 
just outside the main door of the dGonpa, always with his 
devoted lama nurse in attendance, and delighting us by his 

02 


244 Introduction to the Hemis Mystery Play 


baby antics, mimicry of the dancers, and enjoyment of the 
tamasha, till finally we met his diminutive Holiness being 
carried off in his lama’s arms down the steps to bed, still full 
of beans, and turning from a blessing he was instructed to 
give to a bowing worshipper to look back at the strange 
MemSahib, and lift his hand to his forehead saving “ zhu” 
to her. 

Now we must turn our attention to the ceremonies and first 
endeavour to present their strangely fascinating setting. The 
European visitors are asked kindly to bring their own chairs, 
which are placed in a row on a covered balcony one storey 
above the court-yard and facing the main buildings of the 
monastery. ‘These are four storeys high, the upper ones 
having a series of verandahs, each adorned across the top with 
a valance, in which the é/ite of the country sit. One of the 
upper ones belongs to the Skushog’s own private rooms, and 
only himself, the old ex-King, who is now leading a priestly 
life as a hermit in a neighbouring nullah, and one or two 
high-born gentlemen appear init. A large cloth is hung over 
it, so that their privacy may be maintained when desirable, 
but, during the performances, the old King is seen in full view, 
while the dark-blue spectacled eyes and clean-shaven and 
shorn face and head of the Skushog frequently appear under a 
raised corner. In the adjacent anterooms sit other honoured 
guests, while the lower storey balconies seem reserved for 
ladies, for many widely-turquoised perags are seen from time 
to time. Placed on the roof at intervals are sticks supporting 
yak’s tails, three-skirted umbrella-like structures, and others 
made of yak’s wool. At the left-hand corner of the court-yard 
a wide flight of nine steps leads up to the main door on the 
first storey, and this throughout provides a centre of unceasing 
fascination. Not only do the actors enter and depart up and 
down these steps, but the whole time they are peopled by 
lamas ascending and descending, sitting and standing, a most 
wonderful kaleidoscope of red, the extraordinary thing being, 


Introduction to the Hemis Mystery Play 245 


that, in spite of every shade of that colour, scarlet, maroon, 
crimson, puce, claret, magenta, prune, in every stage of new- 
ness and fadedness being present, the total effect of what 
would ordinarily seem so clashing was a really artistic blend of 
colour, to which the eye constantly reverted. 

To the right of the steps and at the level of the big doors, 
a platform projected from the main building, which accom- 
modated a large number of spectators, and on the right-hand 
side of the courtyard were more steps and low roofs packed 
with onlookers. Another platform covered a roof which was 
entirely occupied by a gigantic prayer-wheel, so huge and 
heavy that two or three people must press against it with all 
their strength to start it revolving; but then what a mighty 
weight of prayer went round with each turn. Under the 
Westerners’ balcony was the ecclesiastical band, the instru- 
ments being four pairs of cymbals and a dozen drums of 
the warming-pan shape with queer hooked beaters. Next to 
the musicians came the Skushog’s throne, a raised platform 
with richly-cushioned seat and back, also long trappings, its 
high arch terminating the balcony above, while in front was 
placed a finely painted Tibetan table, flanked by vases of 
flowers. On the other side, level with the court-yard, were 
the remainder of the band, the two long shawms and the two 
flageolets or trumpets. In front of all the musicians were 
small tables which accommodated the holy books from which 
they chanted. 

On the fourth and left side of the court-yard there was no 
wall, but a slight projection accommodated a large prayer- 
wheel about four feet high and three feet in diameter, which 
was constantly being set in motion during the waiting 
times. Beyond this was an open space prolonging the old 
quadrangle into another court-yard in front of the newer 
monastic buildings. 

Between these two court-yards rough barriers, such as the 
trunk of a poplar or a piece of carved wood moulding from 


246 Introduction to the Hemis Mystery Play 


some destroyed roofing, were placed to complete the square 
of the dancing theatre. The audience squatting on the 
ground were pushed back behind these as each scene opened. 

In the middle of the main court-yard, some distance apart 
from each other, and supported by round whitewashed mud 
platforms were two flagstaffs, capped by yaks’ tails ; they were 
almost as high as the monastery, and from their sides floated 
out many long prayer-flags. The scene was completed on the 
first morning, after we had been sent for and had taken our 
seats, by the setting-up of a large banner, which was let down 
from the roof above the main door and steps, on which was 
portrayed a young man with the Buddha type of face. This 
we learnt represented ‘‘ Padma Karpo”’ his real name being 
‘““Dugpa Rinpoche.”” The next morning he was replaced by 
a more elderly gentleman, called ‘‘ Galsas Rinpoche,’’ the 
tutelary god of Hemis. Once in twelve years a still more 
important deity is displayed, and rites and ceremonies are 
performed in his honour, while the common people prostrate 
themselves before him. Above these banners each day a 
large awning with a yellow silk valance was protruded, whether 
to shade them from the sun subjectively, or objectively as 
regards the colour of the cloth, it is hard to say. 

But before the drama opens, we must devote a few words to 
our fellow spectators who will provide us with so much interest 
and amusement in the long intervals between the scenes. 
During one of the most tedious of these, when we could hear 
the drums throbbing for some ceremony within the monastery, 
a Ladaki informant alleged that the monks had been receiving 
and eating the offerings of food brought by the common people 
from near and far. Judging by the size of the congregation 
this must needs have been a proponled ritual and a sustining 
meal. 

During the acting they crowded on to every available space, 
roofs, balconies, galleries, steps, platforms, and blocked up 
all the egresses on the ground floor. Here and there were 


Introduction to the Hemis Mystery Play 247 


proud possessors of umbrellas, which went up for sun or 
showers. Many districts and dialects were represented. 

Here were two Yomos or nuns from Zankskar, to whom 
we talked later on when gathered round their camp-fire with 
their fellow countrymen, young girls of about seventeen and 
nineteen, sisters, with course manly faces and necks under 
their tonsured heads and yellow caps. They had come a 
month’s journey over many a difficult pass, but were as cheery 
as could be. Conspicious were some conjurers from Spitti, 
who come to Ladak every year, and whose display we had 
often witnessed in Leh. With uncovered heads, their long 
hair done in a large number of narrow plaits gave a strangely 
effeminate touch to their tall, well set-up bodies. Dotted 
about were ladies from the district of Hanle, some two to 
three weeks’ journey further up the Indus valley, easily dis- 
tinguished by their peculiar perags, which, instead of coming 
to a blunt point in front, were cut sharply off above the fore- 
head by a straight bar of silver. Many of the women from 
Nubra and the less known valleys of Ladak wore picturesque 
dresses of narrow material sewn together in strips with cir- 
cular patterns stamped on at intervals, giving a striped effect, 
so pleasing that one wished it had not been put out of fashion 
by the town ladies of Leh. One old Tibetan with a dark 
face, looking as if he might belong to the Hanuman tribe, 
sat devoutly under an umbrella the whole time, and, whenever 
we looked across, he was turning his two prayer-wheels, which 
he held one in each hand. Such devotion had no doubt 
prevented him from attending to his wild unkempt hair for 
many a long day. There were also many ladies wearing 
nothing on their heads to cover their untidy plaited hair : 
these were nomads from the Changtang, the great northern 
plains far away. Now a small person takes up a central 
position and serenely breaks open apricot stones to extract the 
kernels, using a stone to crack them on the base of the flagstaff. 
A gentleman with a yellow silk brocade dressing-gown and 


248 Introduction to the Hemis Mystery Play 


tremendous red hat is seen making his way purposefully 
through the crowd, and one wonders what, whence, whither ? 
Then comes into view a curious figure with a tremendous 
prayer-wheel, a strange hat with a central peak, and a high 
scolloped turned-up brim, a conspicuous rosary, and two small 
drums on his back: a sort of gipsy lama, or shall we label him 
a mendicant magician in this land where priest-craft and devil- 
worship, ecclesiastical ritual and sorcery, are so closely mingled. 

There wespy a typical Tibetan face, framed bya four-flapped 
dark orange cap; and now a pretty Ladaki girl, in a very 
Dutchy hat with turned-up corners and a little bit of gold 
embroidery, detaches herself from the crowd and makes signs 
to a friend on the roof above us, a delightful touch of colour 
being added by a yellow rose fastened in the side of her hat. 
Occasionally we spot a woman from Central Tibet with her 
round head-dress a strip of red-covered leather shaped into a 
ring, studded with turquoise and coral, and wearing the quaint 
striped apron which she and her sisters effect. In the corner, 
under the shelter of an overhanging roof, we find a little family 
comfortably ensconced, their baggage sacks having been 
arranged as pillows for a witchlike old lady who leans wearily 
back on them. Here and there stand out extra highly 
coloured hats on our own Ladaki neighbours, even the gentle- 
men having had their head-gear re-covered for such a festival. 
The flat Mongolian faces and quaint wee garments, generally 
raggedly elflike, of the babies, are particularly fascinating, 
especially one tiny man belonging to the front row in the 
quadrangle floor, who runs out into the arena every now and 
again to guilelessly practice the movements he has just 
witnessed, causing real joy to the crowd. One larger boy, 
caught trespassing by a monk with a whip, is seized and given 
a mock beating, which amuses him as much as the onlookers. 
Here are some Dard ladies from Hanu, far down the Indus 
valley, with their bag-like caps fastened down on one side and 
adorned with a row of needles (probably made in Birmingham). 


Introduction to the Hemis Mystery Play 249 


So from time to time one interesting type after another 
appears on the scene and catches the eye. Always in the 
picture the ecclesiastic element is prominent. Most of the 
lamas wear waterbottles, square, flat bags with hole and cap 
at the top. ‘These are used to put the holy water into, which 
alone they are allowed to drink when they fast. Some are 
covered with beautiful Chinese silk brocade, which is worn 
only by senior or superior monks. Quite a number of 
novices are about, boy lamas of all ages from about eight 
upwards. The majority of the crowd are, of course, our own 
Ladaki friends from the neighbourhood of Leh, with a good 
sprinkling of interested Mussulmans distinguished by fez 
and turban, and a few Hindu shopkeepers, clerks, and their 
servants. In the balcony at right angles to us, sitting next 
to the Gurkha sepoys stationed in Leh, is a hermit who 
lives in a little hermitage half-way up the hill about two miles 
from Leh. He looks anything but a hermit in his fine red 
robes, with hair done like the Spitti men, but wearing a 
lama’s cap. 

He is very restless, and his face looks peevish and certainly 
not meditative. But he comes out of retirement a good deal, 
for we have met him in the fields, and a week after the festival 
there was a gathering in the desert outside Leh, where the 
Skushog of Hemis consecrated for him a new chorten and mani 
wall, which he has built to bring blessing to the town, so he 
cannot be a man of poverty. At the festival he is provided 
with a deck chair, and a second day we see him busy tearing 
a long piece of yellow silk into strips, which we later notice 
adorning caps and garments, doubtless after having been 
blessed by the Skushog. 

It was surprising how quickly this concourse of pilgrims 
melted away. The morning after the festival, when we 
moved out of the village at about 9 o’clock, it was almost 
empty again, neither did we pass many of them. 

As we descended straight down to the bridge, crossing the 


250 Introduction to the Hemis Mystery Play 


river to make the return journey to Leh on the other side, we 
passed a large chorten surrounded by small trees, on which 
was painted a hideous three-eyed monster, the patron saint 
of Hemis, and then caught up with one more fascinating 
little group of pilgrims. ‘This trio were returning up the Indus 
valley to the wilds, two women and a man in the dress of 
nomads. On their backs were strange casks like old beer 
barrels with the outlet well pegged. Looking in over the 
top we found they were lidless and contained all their cook- 
ing pots, while the remainder of their travelling requisites, 
probably all their worldly goods, were packed on the back 
of the donkey, whose foal trotted at her side. 


Crab DE On Ly, 
Hemis Mystery Play—First Day 


ITH this mise-en-scéne, we must now try to con- 
vey some impression of the actual mystery play 
as performed at Hemis, and witnessed by us 
on two occasions at an interval of nine years. 

On the former of these the first dance was led off by the 
Skushog himself. His robes were very much like those of the 
other participants, but more ornate with many jewels, and he 
was distinguished by an overdress depending from the waist 
nearly to the bottom of his skirts, made of human bones 
connected into an interlacing pattern of real beauty. His 
mouth was covered with a thin white cloth, and an old lama 
with bare head and wispy grey locks, like a benign old wizard, 
went round at his side, and constantly wiped the perspiration 
from his face. This particular year was one of more elaborate 
ceremony, which only occurs every twelve years, including, 
as already mentioned, the display and worship of a particularly 
holy banner. 

But at the performance we saw nine years later, the Skushog 
only occupied his throne in the court-yard for the first dance, 
and then retreated to his private apartments, from the balcony 
of which he watched the play. His entrance was an imposing 
ceremony attended by two ordinary lamas, and two wearing 
extraordinary hats with large, scolloped, turned-up edges 
culminating in a peak in front. Over him was held a large 
umbrella with gay skirts, and he was led, amid blare of 
trumpets and clash of cymbals, to take his seat on the throne 

251 


252 Hemis Mystery Play—-First Day 


facing the main building, where his attendants prostrated 
themselves, and then retreated. 

Two heralds then appeared on the roof in picturesque 
costumes : young lama boys with bare legs, short garments 
of the prevailing red, and yellow hats with turned-up brims. 
Their typical heraldic conches, from which depended 
banners decorated with dragons, now produced a very 
mournful sound, the great shawms of the band blew loudly 
their Wagnerian-like dragon music, and two masked figures 
appeared and ran down the steps. These were bare-legged, 
with short skirts of a pattern resembling an old chintz, hats 
with a low central peak and a round rolled brim to which a 
square piece of cheap red stuff was attached behind. Their 
right arms were sleeveless, and they carried the ordinary 
horsewhips of the country, a thong of leather on a short 
stick. These gentlemen combined the functions of police 
and jester throughout the ensuing ceremonies. ‘They kept 
the crowds back, whipping even the ladies soundly, but 
harmlessly, with strong whacks on their sheepskin capes, and 
providing endless buffoonery to while away the tedium of 
the long intervals. Onlookers who passed to and fro across 
the open space were seen off with absurd gestures, or their 
gait grossly imitated as they unconsciously walked ahead. 
Small children were abstracted and nursed as babies, pice 
(the Indian farthing) were begged for with ludicrous entreaties, 
and all sorts of by-play indulged in to the huge delight of the 
audience. The favourite joke, which never palled, was to 
snatch off the hat of a casual passer-by, search it for undesir- 
able inhabitants, pounce upon one in triumph, then throw 
away the cap in disgust. After they had executed a short 
dance, they at once began their policing operations by driving 
the crowds back with their whips, and entertaining them 
through an interlude of monotonous chanting by the 
musicians. 

Then at last the real business began, the motive under- 


Hemis Mystery Play—First Day 253 
lying the whole thing apparently being the propitiation of 


evil deities and demon kings, and the exorcism of bad spirits 
in order to secure safety and good fortune during the coming 
year, and, additionally, to exploit ancient stories and supersti- 
tions in order to increase the merit and glorification of the 
lamas themselves, thus enhancing their sacerdotal powers. 
The common people also must become familiarized with the 
demons which will beset their spirits after leaving the body 
at death. 

With a fanfare from the band, thirteen dancers were 
ushered on to the scenes, possibly the number having some 
relation to the thirteen ages represented by the thirteen red 
rings on the superstructure of the chortens. ‘They were 
preceded by two ordinary lamas, and two with braziers of 
incense and with heraldic hats and gowns, who subsequently 
retreated. The dancers themselves wore enormous hats, with 
wide round brims having rounded edges, and a tall structure 
about one-and-a-half foot high rising from the crown, with 
a picture of a skull on it. From the backs of these hats a 
number of brightly coloured broad ribbons streamed down 
to well below the waist, smaller ones being attached to the front. 
Over their mouths were thin white cloths which the Skushog 
informed us were to keep out the dust raised by the dancing, 
a desirable custom which only obtained at Hemis. In each 
hand was a stick to which more streamers were attached. 
Their robes were of rich Chinese silk and brocade embroidered 
in most beautiful combinations of colour. Over their shoulders 
fell rich capes with deep, wide scollops, and in front they wore 
aprons, both of the same beautifully-patterned material, 
differing in each individual case. The skull in the hat, and 
another one represented at the waist in front were constant 
reminders that this life is an illusion in which mortality 
reigns, just as at our own ancient feasts a skeleton was brought 
in to remind the guests of the passing nature of this 
existence. 


254 Hemis Mystery Play—First Day 


Stretching out right and left arms alternately, advancing and 
retiring to and from each other and the centre of the circle, 
they slowly made their way round the court-yard in the direc- 
tion of the hands of a clock. The dance was slow and stately, 
accompanied by the beat of drums and monotonous chanting, 
occasionally punctuated by cymbals. A curious effect con- 
trasting with this measured solemnity was frequently produced 
by the cymbals making two or three loud crashes succeeded 
by a series combining diminuendo and accelerando, exactly 
imitated by the dancers raising their heels in time to the music 
and, as it were, settling down on to them. Each dancer was 
given a few pieces of sacred herb by a lama, and as they 
slowly neared the steps, two monks, one standing each side 
at the top, with heraldic hats and trumpets, blew a note at 
which sign the two leaders made their exit up the steps 
between the onlooking lamas. This was repeated for each 
pair of dancers as they neared the stairs, and was the signal 
for retirement in successive pairs throughout the play. The 
whole impression of this dance was introductory ; by incanta- 
tion and movement to prepare the “astral light” for the 
mystery play, and by invocation to bring blessing on the 
performers. 

At its close one of the police-jesters ran round the court- 
yard with a censer of burning embers for further purification, 
and a continued incantation was maintained by the musicians 
to sustain the ‘‘ aura” produced, and keep away bad spirits. 

Now, with much crashing and noisefrom the band, a troop 
of sixteen dancers emerged, each carrying a tambourine and 
bell. Their hats were of plaited straw with a flat sign on the 
top shaped like the eye of a peacock’s feather, and five of these 
patterns were arranged round the front of the head-dress. 
Their faces were partly hidden by a sort of visor of brass, with 
expansions representing the nose and moustache, and large 
spaces for eyes and mouth. ‘These danced in a similar way 
to their predecessors, droning, ringing bells, and rattling little 


Hemis Mystery Play——First Day 255 


drums, the latter shaped like a double tambourine, each with 
a bob on the end of a long string, which knocked the 
successive sides of the drums when rattled sufficiently. These 
performers receded in pairs in the usual manner, and all we 
could make of their dance was a further preparation by 
sound vibrations to frighten away evil influences. These 
noises are more potent if the metal which causes the vibrations 
is holy. 

After a prolonged interlude, the band rises and stands 
outside the shelter of the gallery to greet a long procession » 
of maskers, which slowly files down the steps. Meanwhile 
some rich strips of carpets have been placed on benches to 
the right of the court-yard, and another long strip on the 
ground to the left. First comes an ordinary lama carrying 
a flag, next one with a brass pot, its brim drawn out into a 
long spout and set with jewels, then a pair of lamas swinging 
censers, others carrying shawms with queer expanded ends, 
some with shorter trumpets, and then a series of masked 
figures, which come on so quickly and amidst such clatter 
and noise that it is impossible to distinguish forms and sounds 
until they have arranged themselves. Most prominent of all 
is a high umbrella-like canopy of red and yellow which is 
carried by a Chinese-looking individual with short black coat 
and long Chinese gown, wearing a hat of several embroidered 
sections, such as Tibetans use upside down under their head- 
gears for an eyeshade when travelling. He and another 
attendant hold the umbrella over a tall form clad in rich 
embroidered silk, the face hidden behind a huge mask por- 
traying a benign countenance with converging eyes. 
Accompanying this being are seven other deities and two 
devil-masked persons. Of the other figures in the procession 
sixteen are dressed alike, unmasked, but with peculiar hats 
made of a triple crown of decreasing size, the topmost sur- 
mounted by a round knob. As all the figures proceed, 
acolytes swinging censers pass in and out between them, and 


256  Hemis Mystery Play—First Day 


they gradually become distinguishable, the benign-faced 
gentleman under the umbrella taking his seat in the centre 
of the carpetted benches, with three of the deities on each side 
and a demon king sitting at each end. These two latter seemed 
to be guardians of the gods, who partake sufficiently of the 
nature of the demons from which these deities must be 
protected to be able to repulse them ; in other words, “ Set a 
thief to catch a thief.” They represent, according to Waddell, 
those deities of the old devil-worship religion, who, when 
Buddhism absorbed the latter, were forced to become 
fidei defensores of the new religion. Each of these demon 
kings has a third eye in his forehead, indicating that he can 
see on inner occult planes, the third eye showing that all 
things are known to him in all directions. The sixteen 
unmasked performers in turn move over to the carpet on the 
sround to our left, and sit there facing the deities, so that 
now we can sort out the minor personages. Attached to each 
row of sitters is a guardian with a cloth folded like a fan in 
his hand and wearing an ugly pink mask with a dropped 
gaping jaw which he can move up and down by means of his 
own chin. He walks along the front of his allotted row of 
figures fanning away evil influences, and every now and then 
has to divert his attention to ward off two apparently harmless 
imps wearing ugly masks, clad in yellow, each with a scarf 
and stick in his hands, and representing mischievous powers 
which try to intrude on the gathering. There also rushes 
in with shrill whistling, produced by placing the fingers in 
the mouth, four bare-legged short-skirted figures with three- 
cornered flags in their hats, whose capes are too scant to 
reach their bare waists. They seem to be high winds bringing 
messages from the four quarters, and each carries a dorjhe 
and tambourine-rattle. ‘They do not seem to disturb the 
assembly for the guardian’s fan is unperturbed, but the police- 
jesters have amusing encounters with them. We can now see 
also the other figures behind the seven seated deities, where 


“QUOIT S.SOYSNYS IY} ST PI 0} }XOU * DDUeUTIOJIOd OY} YOJeM suvsdoIM’y dy} YOM WoT Auosfed dj st FJoT Sy} UO 


‘ ¥ 


“IVAILSH,] SING, AHL AO AONVC IVYNONVWNY AHL 








Hemis Mystery Play——First Day 257 


the Chinese-looking and other attendant still hold the umbrella, 
and sundry acolytes or lama boys stand at one end of the row ; 
one, a young novice, holds a small dough model of the organ 
of generation on a plate, whilst next to him another boy 
exhibits a large shell, and behind them stands a terribly 
dissipated-looking individual, masked with repulsive swollen 
cheeks. 

There now enter four boys with warming-pan drums and 
hooked beaters, wearing hats of the inverted eyeshade type, 
like the Chinaman’s, but with a large Om inscribed in the 
centre. These approach the deities, dancing, whilst the two 
imps of mischief try to get into the foreground, too. The 
boys range themselves in front, stop beating their drums and 
chant an incantation to which the Central Incarnation 
occasionally nods in assent, whilst the jesters and imps play 
about in the background of this solemn scene. ‘These four 
boys having retired, the lesser deities rise in turn to execute 
a “pas seul,” during which we can examine them more 
closely. In the centre we note that the chief personage, with 
the large passive face, holds in his right hand the dorjhe or 
thunderbolt, a symbol of great power, and a small bowl of 
corn—the first food given to man—in his left. He does not 
dance, but, beginning with the one on his right, the others 
rise alternately from each side of him. All are dressed in 
richest silk of most fascinating colours and embroidered with 
Chinese designs of dragons and skulls. Occasionally the 
jester goes round the scene with a censer, and the band of 
course continues to accompany the dancers. 

The first of these has a mask with a blue face, a hat of three 
balls decreasing in size, one on top of the other, and carries a 
dorjhe and bell in his hands. At the close of his dance, the 
figure on the left of the chief god steps out—a deity with an 
insignificant small Buddha-like mask under a hat like a large 
stiffened lama’s cap—who has to be fanned as he rises, and 
whose empty right hand placed against his chest is very 


R 


258 Hemis Mystery Play—First Day 


tremulous as he executes his steps, whether voluntarily or not, 
is not evident, though it ceases when he resumes his seat. 
From the right side of the first dancer rises a figure with a grey 
hat, resembling a chorten, bearing a wreath round it, surmount- 
ing a flesh coloured face, and, depending by long threads from 
his ears representations of the eye of a peacock’s feather. He 
carries a tambourine in one hand and a bowl in the other, 
probably made of part of a human skull. His dance is more 
spreading and cumbrous than that of the others. Next comes 
into the arena the god next but one to the left of the head deity, 
one with a red face, carrying a shield and tambourine-rattle 
adorned with many of the peacock-feather symbols. Another 
red face follows from the other end of the row with the same 
ornament and several small skulls on his head-dress. In 
his left hand he carries herbs and a disc ; in his right is a spear 
with streamers attached to the handle. The final lesser 
deity arises from the left end of the row, displaying an orange 
face and a blue head with tiny knobs all over it, crowned by a 
chignon of the same, the traditional head of the Mongolian 
Buddha. 

Depending from the back of this head is a square of beauti- 
fully embroidered silk, from which one’s glance falls to the 
hands to see them covered with dark yellow gloves, too long 
in the fingers and full of holes ! How one would like to be 
initiated into the meaning of all this strange symbolism which 
seems so incongruous to Western eyes. Waddell suggests 
that the chief deity is Padma Sambhava, the remainder being 
his other seven forms, but that sometimes he is said to be 
the Buddha himself, the group being that of the seven Buddhas. 
Or does it symbolize the seven principles of human nature, 
seven being the sum of four and three, and the basic number 
of the present period according to Buddhist philosophy. 
Hence, for instance, the seven notes of the musical scale, 
and the seven colours of the rainbow have their significance. 


(See Chapter XVI.) 


Hemis Mystery Play——First Day 259 


But the two demon kings have yet to take their parts. 
First the one on the right of the presiding deity rises for his 
dance, and, suddenly, with blare of trumpets, two more devils 
appear, also with the third eye, and wearing handsome 
dresses combining light saxe-blue and red in their magnificent 
colour scheme. Similarly when the turn of the other demon 
king, with his black woolly head, begins, another pair emerges 
to dance with him, also gowned exquisitely. This suggests 
the sudden increase of dancers at the witches’ sabbath in 
Western medieval magic. Finally, the sixteen unmasked 
figures arise from their carpets and approach the deities, and 
then with slow stately steps all proceed round the court-yard, 
and retire up the stairs into the porch. Thus after about two 
hours ended the first morning’s performance, and we retired 
for lunch. 

The first event of the afternoon was essentially a devil- 
dance, in which twelve masqueraders appeared either singly 
or in couples, each advent signalized by the picturesquely- 
hatted lama in the porch blowing his trumpet. The first 
couple were bestial with repulsive snouts, third eyes, and 
wearing aprons with skulls on them. Executing a few turns, | 
they settled down to rest in time with the cymbals in the 
manner already described. Next to them came a black mask 
under a black wooden hat with a triangular flag projecting 
from the middle, the wearer carrying a big hammer with a 
dorjhe attached. Number four had horns and a black animal 
visage, while his neighbour’s head-dress had a broad founda- 
tion with small skulls rimming the front, and piled all over it 
long coils representing a mixture of intestines and snakes, an 
end of one of the latter appearing over the front, showing its 
head, symbolic of desire and decay. The next-comer wore a 
hat with a chaplet of skulls round a woolly crown, and carried 
a sabre and a piece of wood like a knife-cleaning board. 
Three flags protruding from a turret-like structure decked 


the next head, then came another mask with five skulls over 
R2 


260 Hemis Mystery Play—First Day 


the top, while the next element represented must have been 
a good one, for the figure wore a beatific though inane- 
looking white-faced mask. This bright spot among the other 
black-faced, repulsive monsters, however, was more than set 
off by the next comer, whose black mask had a most appalling 
gape, while the rear was brought up by two monkeys with 
dropped jaws and bulging upper eyelids. Save for the last 
fur-covered representatives of the Hanuman tribe, these 
hideous beings all of whom had the third eye, wore most 
exquisite gowns and aprons of Chinese silk. Their purport 
was not revealed to us, for, after a dance of the usual type 
and a low chant, they retreated, as usual in twos at a signal 
from the trumpeters in the porch. 

The next act of this extraordinary drama was preceded by 
the placing of two small carpets on the ground near the left- 
hand flagstaff. One was square with a broad red border 
having in its centre a smaller square of tigerskin. ‘The other 
was of dark blue, with an inner line of light blue demarcating 
a central white triangle, on which lay a mysterious object 
covered with a bit of thin dark blue veiling. The square 
with its four sides, the number of which indicates this earthly 
plane, and the triangle, which, by its three sides stands for the 
higher elements, thus represented the whole universe of earth 
and heaven. ‘'wo unmasked lamas brought out beer in a 
brass chalice, in shape rather like a Western coffee-pot, with 
rounded lines and a pattern chased 1n the middle of both 
sides ; also a small plate of barley anda cup. A third lama 
in an expansive yellow silk robe stood on the square facing 
the triangle, holding a bell and a dorjhe with streamers 
attached. ‘The cup is given into his right hand, and to the 
sound of solemn chanting some beer is poured into it from 
the chalice. With more incantations he throws this away 
in the direction of the flagstaff. Into the cup, apparently 
reversed, some rice is then placed by the other lama, and that 
is also thrown away to the accompaniment of low chanting. 


Hemis Mystery Play——First Day 261 


Next beer and barley are both placed in the cup, the ringing 
of the bell punctuating the droning song as this is done ; 
these are poured away also, and this libation repeated twice, 
after which chalice, cup, and platter are all taken away. The 
yellow-robed priest then dons his mitred hat, waves his 
streamered dorjhe three times towards the hidden object, and 
_ retires. 

Two ghouls now appear on each side of the court, their 
heads and bodies covered with skeletal white cloth on 
which skulls and ribs are inadequately depicted by red 
streaks. Round their waists are kilts made of silk scarves, 
and attached to waist and ankles small bells like those on a 
jester’s hat. Iwo of them carry skulls on sticks, and all wear 
decrepit white gloves on hands and feet, which have never 
known a “ stitch in time,”’ nor ever will. The compartments 
for the toes are particularly incapable of retaining contents 
and flap absurdly over their respective digits. These ghouls 
execute a dance reminiscent of our Sir Roger de Coverley, 
advancing to meet in the middle then passing over to opposite 
sides. One snatches the veil from the hidden object, revealing 
an anthropomorphic efhigy of dough ; the lama replaces the 
veil at once, but again they approach and remove it, before 
making their exit with dancing. 

There now enter four figures of the ogre type, with the 
third eye in their foreheads. One has an open mouth and 
protruding tongue curled upwards, another has a chaplet 
of skulls on his head-dress, while a third is an ogress with 
long trails of hair. Each holds a weapon with which to 
combat evil spirits: thus number one carries a sickle to 
pierce the heart, number two a charm to bind the body, 
number three a snare of rope to tie the hands, and number 
four a bell, whose tinkling will keep the spirits down. They 
are joined by ghouls in narrow trousers and tunics with ill- 
fitting toe-gloves, and all dance, finally leaving the arena 
together. 


262  Hemis Mystery Play—First Day 


Now another procession files down the steps, preceded by 
the bearer of the jewel-rimmed, long-spouted beer-pot, the 
two lamas with musicians’ hats swinging censers, and two 
more whose hats have scolloped up-turned brims, blowing 
their flageolets, all of whom move to one side when they 
have ushered in their ogre. He is a true King of Demons, 
with his big devil-mask, up-turned tongue between great 
tusks, and three eyes. For him a lama holds out the plate of 
barley, some of which he flings away four times, some to 
each of the four quarters of the earth. The remainder is 
placed by the uncovered effigy, which is left alone for a 
time. The heraldic five lamas leave the scene, and the Demon 
King advances in a slow dance to the music of flageolets, 
while four other demons emerge to join him, all with streamers 
in their hands, coloured rags covering the backs of their heads, 
and long earrings of the peacock-eye type ; all, too, have 
small skulls in their head-dresses, and a papier-maché one at 
the waist. A lama removes the platter of barley, then the 
Demon King approaches the dough figure and chops it up with 
his sabre, whereupon the lama distributes it to him and his 
four satellites, afterwards retreating to a low chant. 

Again another type of demon comes upon the scenes 
dancing, and is joined by four others, one pair emerging 
from the crowd on the right, the other couple down the 
stairs on the left. Each carries a warming-pan drum and 
wears a yellow mask, yellow bodice and dark blue skirt, over 
which strips of tiger skin are arranged. On the tops of their 
heads are triangular flags. Again the priest approaches the 
dough figure and distributes portions to the five devils as 
they kneel round the triangle ; he then removes the remnants 
of the efigy and also the square carpet. Now, from right and 
left corners respectively, again approach two groups of five 
figures, demoniacal ogres with yellow, blue, red, and 
black masks bearing skulls, and all with three eyes. The 
five previously in the arena disappear as these ten new figures 


Hemis Mystery Play——First Day 263 


rush into the centre, amid the beating of drums, whistling 
and yelling, whooping and running about, thus demonstrating 
their demoniacal glee at the destruction of the enemy. The 
ten now dance together, ranging themselves in opposing 
fives, beating their drums slowly and quietly, and executing 
a sort of “‘ Sir Roger” again. The band now stops entirely, 
while one of the dancers beats on to the end, until they all 
go out. We, too, with weary eyes and confused brains, are 
glad to retreat to our quiet tents on the hillside, trusting 
that the morrow may bring some elucidation of the purpose 
and meaning of the strange things we have witnessed. 


CHAPTER XXV 
Hemis Mystery Play—Second Day 


HE morning of the second day was very dis- 
appointing, for, after a message having come for 
us to assemble just before ten o’clock, we had to sit 
expectantly for nearly two hours, and then were 

only rewarded by seeing a dance similar to the first one of the 
previous day. Our anticipation had been raised in vain 
several times by the fanfare from the heralds on the roof, or 
an overture by the band, and once even to high pitch by the 
sudden hurling of a number of lay-folk out of the porch and 
down the steps as though to clear the road, when they almost 
fell over each other in precipitous retreat from unseen forces 
behind, so that alarm for small boys in the crush was mingled 
with the joy of certainty that something was coming at last, 
only to settle once more into aggrieved patience. However, at 
last the band burst into full music, and a procession really 
appeared, preceded by the bearer of the jewelled beer-pot, at 
the side of which walked a lama with a whip, then two swingers 
of censers, then the two heralds, who led in apparently the 
same performers as in the first item of the previous day with 
the difference that a burning brazier was carried round to 
purify the way for an additional lama. ‘This priest bore a 
ceremonial vase, something like a small tea-pot, adorned 
unfortunately by little tawdry skirts, and containing peacock’s 
feathers. He led the way across the arena to a second outlet 
on the right where the dancers threw away sacred herbs. 
After this the dancing became more animated, with shrill 
264. 


. 
| 
| 
( 





THE FESTIVAL AT HEmISs. 


Showing the lamas of the monastic band blowing their long shawms. To their left is the 
Skushog’s throne, and to their right a large prayer-wheel framed in a projection of masonry. 


HEMIS DGONPA, 


With chortens in the foreground. ‘This is the monastery where the great festival is held 
annually. Hidden among the foothills, it has escaped pillage, Hence it is rich in treasure. 


¥® 


ri) 


> bs! 








Hemis Mystery Play—-Second Day 265 


whistling, the beating of the drums and chanting being 
continuous throughout, while occasionally a clash of cymbals 
inaugurated an acceleration, when hops and jumps varied the 
monotony. When the performers had danced slowly round 
the circle, the trumpeters on the steps played them out as 
usual. 

In the afternoon we again waited from 3 till 5 p.m. wit- 
nessing the preparations for a rather interesting display. 
Three sturdy little well fed ponies were brought into the 
court-yard. One was very gaily caparisoned, first with a rich 
fringed cloth covering his whole body, over which a beautiful 
carpet was thrown, above that a gorgeous saddle, and sur- 
mounting all a cloth of tiger-skin with a red edge. The other 
two ponies were given just one covering coat of patchwork 
with a border inferior in quality, the whole badly needing the 
attentions of needle and cotton. During the long waiting 
time which followed, a gentleman, who had evidently been 
enjoying the local beer, staggered about in and out between 
the ponies and round the area with smoking embers in a 
rough frying pan, saying “ so-/o, so/o,” (hurrah), and emitting 
weird noises which were apparently intended to raise the 
excitement of the animals, though this was achieved to a 
greater extent by the smoking embers being pushed in under 
their noses and close to their bodies. A figure dressed in 
Chinese hat, black coat, and yellow silk robe, holding a 
salutation-scarf, stood up by the flag-staff. He was extra- 
ordinarily motionless throughout the long time of waiting. 
A lama, with bare head and rich yellow silk robes, carrying a 
wand also appeared, he being the man in charge of these 
animals throughout the year. Each pony was held by a man 
wearing a hat with an edging of white goat or sheepskin. 
Underneath our balcony we next descried three black dogs, 
of which one seemed to drop out later, also with cloths on 
their backs, once gorgeous, now old, torn and faded, while to 
the right of the quadrangle two grey-white goats stood waiting. 


266 Hemis Mystery Play—Second Day 


As they waited, a lama brought out some long strips of red 
cloth printed with prayers, and climbing up the high flag-staffs, 
added them to the other prayer-flags for the wind to operate 
upon. 

At last the ecclesiastical band appeared, on the roof this 
time, and the shawms and flageolets resounded ; then a lama 
brought out a silver tea-pot adorned with skirts and peacock 
feathers. He poured some of the contained beer into the 
hands of the patient Chinaman, on to the back of each of 
the animals, and some into the palms of each of their keepers, 
who drank it up with much relish. Then a battered old tin 
bowl containing blood-reddened clay was brought to each 
group of animals, and, their backs having been bared, they 
were well smeared with a bit of goat’s hair dipped into the 
ruddy mixture. The ponies, now thoroughly excited, were 
led off at a gallop, and circling the monastery, were brought in 
at the opposite entrance, where cheered, hooted, and excited 
with much noise, they tore across the court-yard to re-appear 
and vanish again. The ponies thus circled the d’Gonpa 
altogether three times, the dogs only appearing once more, 
while the small timid goats were led slowly across once only, 
and then probably put aside for safety’s sake. These animals 
represent the scapegoat idea as interpreted at Hemis, and 
once they have been chosen for this unusual ceremony are 
never allowed to work again, but fed and fattened at the 
expense of the monastery, and set aside for this ceremony 
until death. Some Ladaki informants also state that the 
ceremony is to dedicate the animals to the gods, the truth 
probably being that the gaily caparisoned one has some 
special purpose in this connection. 

During this item a large pudding or cake made of some 
kind of flour mixed with water, the colour of mud and studded 
with white spots, was deposited on the ground in front of the 
empty Skushog’s throne, and covered with a salutation scarf. 
This, according to a Ladaki onlooker, was to be dispensed 


Hemis Mystery Play-—Second Day 267 


subsequently by the Abbot with his blessing. It was re- 
moved at the end of the sccapegoat performance, after which 
three ragged and dirty women brushed over the dusty court- 
yard with little bundles of reeds and sprinkled it with water. 

In the early morning a low square platform of mud, about 
four inches high, and two inches square, had been made in 
the same place as the triangle and square carpet had been laid 
the previous day. Now a tray was placed on the platform 
containing a rough cup and some tins. Then a dancer 
emerged, with a three-cornered pennant projecting from a 
large round hat, wearing a rich cape over a dress of brocaded 
streamers and scarves, and carrying a small bowl made of a 
human skull in his hand. He upset the tray, but apparently 
this was unintentional, and a small lama replaced its contents. 

Ten more maskers emerged in single file, dressed like the 
first, but one unfortunately had broken the stick supporting 
his pennant, and the resulting angle made it rather interfering 
in the ensuing mélée. The three-cornered flags were of red 
with broad blue borders, jester’s bells were jingling round the 
waists, while numbers one and ten had anklets of bells also. 
Their masks, with faces of blue, green, red, flesh-colour, and 
yellow, were merely hideous and leering, having no third eye, 
so they probably belonged to the class of earth-master-demons. 
The first comer, their chief would then be the “‘ Great Guard- 
ian King,” who stands in the middle, while they stand 1n two 
rows facing him. As they dance to an impressive boom of 
the long shawms, an ordinary priest and small lama boy busy 
themselves preparing a device on the mud platform, using 
pencils and colours from the tray and tins already there. The 
lama first draws a large triangle of purple, then an inner one 
of yellow ochre next a white outline to a broad light blue 
one edged within again with white, and within this a solid black 
triangle is painted. Selecting white chalk, he then sketches 
in flames all round the purple outside triangle, hieroglyphics 
in the light blue one, and a central device in the black. What 


268 Hemis Mystery Play—Second Day 


these were we could not make out. Meanwhile the earth- 
master-demons have been trumpeted out in twos, and now 
two new heralds appear in the porch, young boys with white 
powdered faces, who, blowing the conches from the corners 
of their mouths, bend the knees outwards, as they finish each 
long note, as though to expel it more effectively. ‘Their 
instruments have handsome long tassels, and are blown three 
times to usher in a long procession of dancers. Group one 
are unmasked, but dressed like the members of the inaugural 
dance on the previous day. Next to them the herald boys 
with their powdered faces take their place, and we note their 
green shorts of brocaded silk under a long scarf wound about 
their bodies, and looped up and down to form a skirt. ‘Their 
hats are like red tea-cosies with bands wound round the base. 
The third group consists of four members with hats of a 
papier maché type, like a Skushog’s riding hat. (These hats 
and all the masks are made at monasteries, and consist of 
cotton material bound together by a mixture of earth and 
water). Scarves hang down from under the hats behind, and 
their dresses are of yellow silk divided into large squares by 
broad bands of red, while in the right hand they carry long 
iron sticks with four projecting pieces at the top, bent down 
and hooked to receive four rings ; in their left hands are large 
black bowls. Another group of four follows, wearing black 
masks, all of whom have a terribly evil leer with mouth drawn 
down at the corners, as though saying a perpetual “ ugh.” 
The first and third, dressed in black, carry in the right 
hand a knifeboard and in the left what might be either a loop 
of intestine or merely a snare of rope. Numbers two and four 
hold in their right hands a flat object about two feet long cut 
in the shape of a human figure. ‘Their raiment is fashioned 
of stuff resembling a leopard’s skin, with a sleeveless bodice 
and a skirt cut into strips worn over navy shorts. The fifth and 
final group comprises four men, with the vizor masks we have 
already seen. In their hands they carry sword and shield, 


Hemis Mystery Play—Second Day 269 


and to each of their backs is attached a quiver of arrows. 
Beneath the fine silk, sleeveless overdresses of these warriors, 
with streamers attached to the waistline, the warm homespun 
robes of the lama can be seen. The heralds, and, of course 
the gruesome quartette, are barefooted, but the rest wear 
ordinary lama boots. Each group in succession dances round 
the central mystic sign, sitting, when not their turn, on the 
carpetted benches in the corner of the quadrangle, which had 
been prepared as on the previous day. 

The red square with its central tiger-skin was now produced 
again and laid down beside the painted triangles, on which 
another human effigy of dough under its blue veil was 
placed. 

Now, preceded by heralds and swingers of censers, four 
figures dressed as in the first dance of the first day appear, 
each carrying a bell and dorjhe, accompanied by two lamas in 
their ordinary robes, one carrying the brazen chalice we have 
already seen, the other four cups onatray. ‘These two lamas 
pass to each dancer in turn, pouring into his cup a little beer, 
and adding a few grains of barley, while all chant in tone, and 
the band plays slow solemn music. ‘This was, perhaps, the 
most impressive and stately act of the whole play. While 
the beer and barley were being actually served, the four 
performers were stationary, while the orchestra played and 
chanted a really beautiful theme, at the end of which the cups 
were emptied on the ground, the four figures bowed before 
the platform, themselves chanting, then, ringing their bells 
and holding out their dorjhes, again started their stately 
gyrations. This ceremony of filling and emptying the cups 
was performed six times; then the vessels were collected on a 
tray and removed. 

With a whistle and flinging out of the dancers’ scarves in 
time with the music, one of these priestly saints now takes his 
place on the square mat, the covering is removed from the 
effigy, and more incantations are intoned. Accompanied by 


270 Hemis Mystery Play—Second Day 


more whistling and flinging of scarves and a wild reverberat- 
ing crash of music from the band, the priest then leaves the 
square mat, and all join in a final dance, retreating in pairs. 
The next act seems to begin within the monastery hall, for 
figures appear in the porch dancing to music, but retreat into 
the shadows again. One lama with censers, and one with the 
jewelled beer-jug come down into the quadrangle, and take 
up their positions by the right-hand flag-post. Again a figure 
with horns is seen gyrating within the porch, and anticipation 
is enhanced by the band bursting into wild crescendos. At 
last the procession emerges into view, first the bearer of the 
jewelled beer-jug, then two swingers of censers, then the 
heralds followed by a troop of three-eyed demon kings. The 
leader is he of the horned mask, bearing a sabre and a cup 
made of a human skull decked with streamers. All the rest 
have skulls on their head-dresses, rich embroidered silk robes 
with capes, aprons and streamers, capped by masks of green, 
red, yellow, white and brown. The horned gentleman is their 
sLobdpon or chief. He approaches the effigy and sprinkles it 
with barley from the plate which has been left at the side ; then 
a lama steps in and cuts the effigy up, giving each demon 
deity a portion. No doubt this ceremony is rooted in the old 
cannibalism of the Bon Chos. The efigy has now been © 
killed, and four grave-yard ghouls come in to dispose of the 
corpse, though it is the lama who actually removes the last 
bits. The four dance about, two of them standing over the 
platform, and with alternate bare feet rhythmically wipe away, 
or rather smear out in its dust, all traces of the mystic triangles. 
They then dance altogether in ghoulish glee, while the horned 
gentleman, proceeding in solitary dignity, leads off his troupe 
in twos. The skeletal ones dance on, getting more joyful, — 
jumping round and round themselves, and leaping to and from ~ 
the empty platform until their turn also comes to depart. 
It would leave a more profound impression if the play ended 
here, but a final foolish little act is introduced, serving as a 


Hemis Mystery Play—Second Day 271 


complete anticlimax. A stool is placed near the Skushogs’ 
throne, and the square carpet with the central tiger-skin, 
placed on it. An aged gentleman, with the large mask of an 
ordinary old man, but evidently very decrepit and tottery, is 
supported by five young boys with bare legs, short skirts, 
capes, and simple masks, with a bit of gay Yarkandi silk 
attached at the back to hide the hiatus between head and neck. 
A Ladaki onlooker says this gentleman is the one who attends 
to the feeding of all the masked lamas, and is called ‘‘ rGyalpo 
(King) Achan.’’ Supporting his failing steps, he leans 
heavily on his pupils, who eventually get him to the stool, 
accompanied by a masked and yellow-robed lama, carrying a 
warming-pan drum and a pair of cymbals, who squats on the 
cround at his side. One of the guardians with the moveable 
jaw, who watched over the row of benevolent deities on the 
first morning, enters with a brazier and rosary, and tries to 
help keep the high-spirited pupils in order. These jump 
about, laughing, boxing each other, fighting and playing, and 
making fun of their old preceptor. The old man gives them 
each some food, a piece of pudding made of uncooked barley 
mixed with water. He also offers them a piece of paper, and, 
as each in turn jumps to clutch it he whips them, to the great 
amusement of the crowd in the audience. On being handed 
the musical instruments he stands the warming-pan drum 
up on its handle, leaning it against his left knee, and, with his 
right hand, somehow manages both to beat it and to clash the 
cymbalson hisright knee. Tothismusicthesmall boys dance 
lightly and lithely round the flag-staff, receiving occasional 
whips from the guardian. They then jump about with 
whoops and cries, and carry on tedious little feeble bits of 
buffoonery, till even the audience gets weary and begins to 
disperse. The old man and his pupils in a close row prostrate 
themselves several times at full length before the Skushog’s 
empty throne, obviously caricaturing this act of worship, then 
the boys,stroke their aged teacher’s head, tie a scarf round his 


272 Hemis Mystery Play—-Second Day 


neck, and lead him away. By this time the crowds are all 
straggling across the court-yard, and the exit takes place in 
oblivion, giving a most absurd and feeble-finish to the long 
performance. 

Thinking over the mystery play in quiet retrospect, trying 
to discover a sequence and a meaning in its confused medley 
of sights and sounds, one has to confess that at the end a 
“mystery”? play it remains. The Skushog himself has 
confirmed the idea that the effigy of dough represents a chos- 
la gnodpa gtong-kan, that is, a doer of harm to religion. 

Even the common people have some idea of this, for on 
questioning an ordinary Ladaki as to its significance, he told 
me that it was an evil spirit that had been made to flee, but had » 
come down from the hills to harm religion again. But, as 
Waddell says, “‘ it is used also to convey to the people a vivid 
conception of the manner in which devils attack a corpse, and 
the necessity for priestly services of a quasi-Buddhist sort to 
euard it and the soul.”’ 

The constant apposition of incongruities is particularly 
fitting to this land for ever exhibiting things “ the wrong way 
round.” Even Alice’s ‘“‘ curiouser and curiouser’’ is far 
transcended by the grotesque weirdness of religious concep-— 
tion here manifested. The rich embroidered silks, the dirty 
tags of commonest bazar cloth (probably a rag blessed by 
the Skushog) appended to the same person, the voluminous — 
skirts and stately movements of cumbrous-large-booted 
personages, the difficulty of description that involves the 
introduction of a homely English object, such as a coffee-pot 
or even a knife-cleaning board, the mixture of rare costliness 
with tawdry banality, the introduction of mischievous imps 
and jesters into solemn scenes, the caricaturing of religion by 
its own devotees, the simultaneous inspiration of laughter and 
fear, all contribute to the general impression of a land of 
dreams and unreality. In the most solemn scene, where the 
four priests were receiving holy grain and wine with which to 


Hemis Mystery Play—Second Day 273 


cast their spell over the effigy, when the dance was at its 
stateliest and the music most awe-inspiring and beautiful, 
the right contrasting note was produced by the Baby Skushog, 
who had been brought by his lama nurse to sit on a vantage 
point at the side of the porch. There, in view of all, he waved 
his little hand in time to the music, imitated the performers, 
clasped his lama nurse in a sudden ecstasy of baby emotion, 
picked up dust and threw it in the man’s face, was scolded till 
baby tears overflowed, then taken up, comforted, and shewn 
the peacocks’ feathers and other pretty things on the altar 
underneath the great banner, till his equanimity was restored, 
in fact provided quite a little unconscious entertainment of his 
own. In appreciating all these fantastic effects, one’s reason 
abruptly brings one up against our Western ignorance: how 
little we can understand the complicated symbolism of the 
Fast, and how utterly ignorant we are of the customs embraced 
in their signification, traceable back to an antiquity so far 
exceeding any of which we have cognisance. 


CHAPTER XXVI 
The Lure of Ladak 


HE festival at Hemis is, as it were, a grand climax 
to all the strange things we see and find in this 
extraordinary .country, which culminate in its 
religious practices. We have described lightly 

the outward ceremonies and appearances of the masque, 
emphasizing perhaps its humorous details, conscious and 
unconscious : yet, when we review it as a whole, we cannot 
but be appalled at its deeper significance, nor can we fail 
to realize that this country of cheery, attractive, lovable folk 
is a prey to the most rampant demonology. Where all the 
best religions of the world will at least point upwards, as it 
were, to “ whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are 
lovely, whatsoever things are of good report” as worthy of 
contemplation, here the whole force of Lamaism directs the 
people’s attention downwards to that which is impure, ugly, 
evil. Surely in spiritual matters they are “ upside down” 
rather than we. ‘The study of their horoscopy alone impresses 
one with the terrible burden of it all, the endless costly offices 
imposed on the common ignorant, superstitious people by 
Lamaism. It is rightly stated that “‘one family alone is 
prescribed a sufficient number of sacerdotal tasks to engage 
a couple of lamas fairly fully for several months of the year.” 

The rites enjoined to overcome the difficulties of the conflict- _ 
ing horoscopes of relations dwelling together, the ceremonies 
necessary to nullify evil influences in connection, not only 
with the crises of life to which we have referred, but with 

274 


The Lure of Ladak 275 


other lesser events in the family activities and even in the 
surrounding neighbourhood, all are used to exploit the 
credulity and fears of a primitive people for the enrichment in 
money and power of a set of priests, themselves with little 
education, save the reading of their “ holy’ books. Thus, 
apart from the exercise of these functions, the lamas, who are 
said to constitute almost one third of the population, lead use- 
less lives of indolence and indulgence, contributing nothing 
to the economical and certainly not to the spiritual welfare of 
their fellow countrymen, but merely absorbing their hard- 
earned riches in parasitical luxury. As an observer from the 
Chinese side has recorded, ‘‘ Lamaism is responsible for 
having sapped the manhood of Mongolia of its energy and 
initiative, and deadened its intellect.” By segregating such 
_a large proportion of its young manhood into an enforced and 
false celibacy, it lowers the birth-rate as well as the moral 
standard of the country. How infinitely removed are these 
evil practices from the pure teachings of the Buddha, whose 
name has been associated with the veneer of reform introduced 
into this devil-worship. The wonder is that the people 
remain as wholesome and cheery as they do, and no visitor to 
Ladak will deny the attractiveness of this sturdy hill race. 

Indeed they are part of that lure of Ladak which every year 
provides the British Joint Commissioner with a waiting list 
for travellers desiring passes far longer than that of the suc- 
cessful applicants. Falling into a different category from the 
ordinary visitor is the sportsman, whose pass is included in 
his shooting license, men, and even women, to whose primeval 
hunting instincts the great hills call. The mere traveller 
may be lured by the everlasting hills also, or the peculiar bare 
country, or its strange inhabitants and their quaint customs. 
The mere joy of the road calls some, while few can on arrival 
resist being curio hunters, and during their brief visits con- 
centrate their attention on any of the following : the cups of 


rare china, the more common wooden ones lined wtih silver, 
s2 


276 The Lure of Ladak 


metal spoons, brass and copper tea-pots or other utensils, 
robes and other garments of Chinese design, turquoises, jade 
ornaments, furs and small carpets. Some of these visitors 
travel very simply, with minimum of servants and luggage ; 
others prefer a voyage de luxe with a long train of both. ‘The 
former when invited to dinner, would fain accept, but regret 
they “ have only shorts,”’ and are happy to be assured that this 
is quite correct evening kit in Leh. The latter bring full 
evening dress, and one of these evoked a facetious comment 
from our man-servant. Unlike the custom prevailing in 
India, we train women-servants for the work in the house, while 
a man combines all the functions of water-bringer, gardener, 
groom, etc. ‘This gentleman was asked to light a fire on the 
second occasion when a certain Mem Sahib was expected to 
dinner, although in this land of scarce fuel we had not thought 
of beginning fires for ourselves yet. His concise comment 
was, ““ Much meat, little clothes.”’ 

Then there are visitors who are specialists in some particular 
line of research, and, in the short twelve years during which we 
have been closely connected with Ladak, we have had among 
our visitors botanists, geologists, ornithologists, archeologists 
and topographers ; also devotees of the camera, even of the 
cinema, besides those of the brush, who comprise a list in 
themselves, from the mystic type of picture painter, the etcher, 
the futurist, and the straightforward colourist (if we may coin 
the term), to the lightning or snapshot sketcher. Some of 
these specialists have been organized into expeditions, 
such as the Anglo-Italian one, led by Sir Filippo De 
Filippi in 1913-14, and which passed on into the Kara- 
korams and the Depsang Plateau, but was brought to 
an abrupt conclusion by the outbreak of the Great 
War. It comprised many experts in different sciences, 
and those who were engaged in gravimetric observations in 
the course of their investigations sent up several air balloons 
in Leh. ‘These eventually descended in the surrounding 


The Lure of Ladak 2G 


villages, and were the cause of much wonder and fear, out of 
which the lamas made a rich harvest by exercising the evil 
influences they were supposed to disseminate. ‘This expedi- 
tion was also able to receive in Leh wireless messages from 
Dehra Dun, perhaps a foretaste of broadcasting, even across 
the Himalayas. The Dutch expedition of 1922, and again 
in 1925, as we write, at work on the glaciers of the Karakorums, 
led by Mr. and Mrs. Visser with their Swiss guides must also 
be noted. Then there are our political visitors in the consular 
service, who occasionally come through this way from Central 
Asia, and even China, to say nothing of the interesting patients 
we have, not only medical, but occasionally mental, and we 
may say even moral, referring to those who unfortunately 
did not feel bound by promises contained in their signed 
passports. 

Not only do these people keep our small European com- 
munity busy during the visiting season, but in the long closed 
winter, and indeed all the year round, they solicit many favours. 
Thus the Doctor Sahib himself has been asked to collect 
butterflies, birds and their eggs, algae and fungi, ferns, 
flowers, stamps, curios and even mosquitoes by sundry 
enthusiasts, to say nothing of requests being made for long 
dissertations on the Buddhism and mysteries of Tibet by 
unknown theosophists in the Antipodes. ‘Thus, among our 
acquaintances made in this relatively isolated spot of Central 
Asia, we may number, besides those of adjacent countries and 
our own British Islands, men and women from America, 
Norway, Sweden, Holland Switzerland, France, Austria, 
Italy, Russia, Persia, China and Japan, so that there is no 
doubt that the lure of Ladak is a real fact. Some of these 
travellers rush into print on the subject of their visits here, 
and we read their journalistic efforts with interest, sometimes 
amusement, others weave light stories of travel, while some 
of the deeper students engage in profound treatises on their 
own special subjects. Even a close connection of twelve 


278 The Lure of Ladak 


years with the country, however, can only touch the fringe of 
all there is to know of these interesting people, and we can 
only leave them regretfully, trusting that the future may bring 
tohers with more leisure and ability to tackle such an extensive 
subject. 


Aksakal, 30 

Altar, 132 

Amitabha, 21 

Apricot oil, 111 

Archery, 157 

Aum mani padmehum, 168 
Auolakita, 221 


Baltal, 47, 49 

Baltis, 14.4. 

Baltistan, 26 

Banners, holy, 221 
Baralatcha, 89 

Bashahr State, 86 
Bellows, 113 

Birds, 40, 41, 42, 48, 55 
Birth, 181 

Blacksmith, 141 
Bonchos, 24, 25, 26, 164 
Books, 137, 220 

Bot Kharbu, 70, 95 
Boundary Dispute, 100 
Breadmaking, 83 


British Joint Commissioner, 29 


Brogpas, 92 

Brogs, 111 
Brotherhoods, 132, 177 
Buddha, 27 

Buddha’s teaching, 163 
Buddhism, Indian, 24. 


Index 


Burtsa, 40 


Calendar, 170 
Carpenter, 20, 24, I41 
Castle, Leh, 199 

Castle, Stog, 201 
Centuryir 4.115, 20,27 
Chanegund, 64. 

Chang, 27 

Changpa, 103 
Changtang, 24. 

Chapels, private, 111 
Charas, 30 

Children, 129 

Chortems, 34, 110, 168, 169 
Circumambulation, 175 
Climate, 42, 43 
Clothing, female, 129 
Cooking-pots, 113 
Cooking-stoves, 113, 114 
Coronation, 198 
Counting, 132 

Customs of inheritance, 116 


Da, 95 

Dalai Lama, 221 
Dances, 210 
Dards, 25, 26 
Darkit, 66 
Darra, 119 


279 


280 


Demon possession, 205 
Demon worship, 24 
Dinners, 212 
Disease, 14.6 
Divorce, 187, 190 
Doctors, native, 134 
Dosmoche, 173 
Dras, 59, 61 
Drogpo Karpo, 107 
Dukar, 222 
Dundeltang, 62 
Dynasties, 26 


Earflaps, 127 
Eclipse, 171 


Farming, 124 

Ferns, 38 

Filippo de Filippi, Sir, 275 
Finger, ring, 117 

Flour, preparation of, 119 
Flowers, 38, 39, 40, 47, 57, 64, 102 
Food, 117 

Football, 152 

Fruit, 39, 50 

Fuel, 131 

Funeral rites, 192, 193 


Games, children’s, 130, 152 
Gaspon, 100, 107 

Gold, 24 

Grace, Buddhist, 117 

Grass, poisonous, 49 

Greeting, 129 

Guardian gods of the temple, 219 
Gyatug, 118 


Hairdressing, 125, 127 


Index 


Hanu,*95 
Hanupata, 77, 80 
Hats, 20, 21, 126, 222 


Head-dress, Mohammedan, 129 


Henasku, 33, 70 
Herodotus, 23 

High Mass, 178 
Hinayana Buddhism, 164 
Homespun, 122 
Horologist, 135 
Horse-dealing, 140 
Horse-racing, 156 
Houses, Ladaki, 109 


Incarnation, Hemis, 28 
Indus, 35, 36, 73 
Inheritance, 128 
Instruments, 138 
Irrigation of fields, 109 


Kahgyur, 135 
Kalatse, 72 
Karakorum Range, 76 
Kardong Pass, 39 
Kargil, 65 
Kashmiris, 144 
Kesar Saga, 196 
Khampa, 96 
Kings, 173, 195 
Kiula Pass, ro5 
Kulu, go 
Kyelang, 89 


Lactation, 130 

Lahoul, 88 

Lamas, red robed, 27 
Lamas, yellow robed, 24, 27 


Lamayuru, 33, 34, 72, 168, 195 


Langdarma, 25, 173, 196 
Lena, 120 

Lhatos, 34, 36 

Lingshed, 84 

Literature, 26 

Lotsun, 66 

Lucerne grass, 123 


Machoi, 4.6, 51 

Magician, 209 

Magpa, 183, 189 
Maharajah, 28, 29, 44 
Mahaiyana Buddhism, 164. 
Mazi Walls, 34, 249 
Marketing, 123 

Marmots, 82 

Marriage, 25 

Marsro, 200 

Matayan, 55, 56, 59 
Matreya, 169 

Meat, cooking of, 117 
Medical tour, 149 
Medical visit, 115 
Merchants, 140 

Merit, 162 

Milk and its derivatives, 118 
Milling, 120 

Minstrels, 138 
Missjonaries, Swedish, 60 
Monasteries, 72, 109 

Mok moks, 118 

Mons, 24, 138 

Moravian Mission Hospital, 144 
Mountaineering, 31 
Mulbek, 66, 67 

Music, monastic, 112 
Musicians, 24, 25, 138 


Index 281 


Mustard oil, 111 
Mystery Play, 239 


Name giving, 136, 182 
Namika La, 69 

New Year’s day, 172 
Nyemo, 73 


Offerings to gods, 117 
Operations, 147, 150 
Ornaments, female, 128 
Ornaments, personal, 69 


Padma Sambhana, 88 
Pandras, 61 

Panjila, 78 

Pashkyim, 65, 66 

Pashmina, 120 

Paspun, 132, 133, 186, 187, 192 
Patients, 144 

Peace celebrations, 143 
Perag, 126 

Performances, 212 

Photi la, 36 

Pigtail, 183 

Polo, 93, 152 

Polyandry, 188, 190 
Prayer-flags, 167 

Prayer Mystic, 165 
Prayer-wall, 28, 35, 166 
Prayer-wheel, 165, 166, 167 
Purig, 61, 65 


Queen, 200 
Queen Mother, 148 


Rainfall, 43 


282 Index 


Refectory of temple, 219 Snuff, 125 
Rohtang Pass, go Sonamerg, 45 
Roofland, 123 Sorowar, 29 
Room, living, 112 Spinning, 68, 121 
Roosevelt, Col. Theodore and Capt. | Spitug, 36, 74 

Kermit, 47, 49, 53, 56 Spoons, 117 
Rope bridge, 78 Stagtse, 70 
Rosary, 166 Stories, Ladaki, 139 
Rose, wild, 37 Strewing oblations, 167 


Suru River, 65 


Sanksrgyas, 27 

Sankar monastery, 216 

Saspola, 72, 73 

Scapegoat festivals, 172, 173, 266 
School, 132 

Services, household, 112, 133 
Shah Jahan, 28 


Taboos, 181 
Tailoring, 124 

Tara, White, 28, 198 
Tashgam, 63 
Teachers, 137 
Teacup, 114 


Shawls, Kashmiri, 120, 122 Tehsil, 29 
Temperature, 43 
Sheep, 105 aa 
Sheikh, 144 ce et, 3 
Shergol, 66 ae mf ; 
Shimshe Kharbu, 38, 62, 63 ongue, protrusion o1, 20 


Shingkunla Pass, 88 Treaty road, 29 


Shooting, 41, 158 ane 
Sikhs, 2g sage W 
Sindh River, inane eet 
Skushogs, 226 
Skushog, Hemis, 226 Utensils, religious ceremonial, 112 
i eluheane, 297 
»  Ridzong, 237 Vegetables, 119, 124. 
TD pitue, 202,330 Visser, Mr. and Mrs., 277 
Stagna, 229 
| | Lrigtsé,. 229 Wages, 132 
PUAN BD, 50, 203 Wanla, 76 
Smoking, 128 Wards, Hospital, 148 
Snowbridge, 51 Wars, Balti, 28 


Snowfall, 4.3 Weaving, 124 


Index 


Wedding customs, 183 Yarsa, 111 

Wedding ornaments, 128 Yulchung, 84 

“ Wheel of life,” 218, 226 

Wireless telegraphy, 277 Zangla, 86, 97 

Wool and its preparation, 120, 122 Zenana Mission Hospital, 61 
Zho, 118 

Yarkandi games, 157 Zogi La, 39, 46, 53, 57 

Yarkandis, 144 Zorowar, 86, 201, 203 


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